




























































COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 






























TYRREL OF THE COW COUNTRY 





“Busted nothing!” shouted Welsh 

“He’s riding him — dammit— he’s riding him!” 


[Page 36] 




Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


By 

ROBERT AMES BENNET 

W 

Author of For the White Christ, Into the Primitive f 
Out of the Primitive, The Shogun’s Daughter, etc. 


Frontispiece by 
J. ALLEN ST. JOHN 



CHICAGO 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 


1923 






Copyright 

A. C. McClurg & Co. 
1923 


Published September, 1923 


Copyrighted in Great Britain 



Printed in the United States of America 


SEP 29 1923 

©C1A759217 







To my friend 

EDMUND F. COBB 


In remembrance of our pleasant days 
together in studio and out on range 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Roped.1 

II On the Make.10 

III By a Head and Neck.20 

IV Still Hell.30 

V Bites and Bargains.38 

VI In the Saddle.47 

VII Quijote D’Artagnan.55 

VIII Old Feuds — New Feuds.64 

IX Hard to Handle.76 

X Jacarilla’s Ear Mark.85 

XI Querido .90 

XII In Bad.101 

Xllf For Life — For Love.109 

XIV The Clash.118 

XV Buried Treasure .... .... 129 

XVI Thirst’s Nectar.138 

XVII Dress and Redress.145 

XVIII In the Back.152 

XIX Queen’s Choice.161 

XX Hazardous Plays.168 

XXI Innuendo.176 

XXII The Milksop . . . 183 

XXIII ’Tis an Ill Wind—.191 

XXIV Fool or Joker.200 

XXV Dewy Diamonds.211 

XXVI How to Make ’Em Laugh.218 




























CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXVII The Haughty Spirit.228 

XXVIII Diamonds and Hearts.237 

XXIX The Rustler.243 

XXX “Go Get Him”.253 

XXXI Sided.265 

XXXII Bluff.273 

XXXIII Mrs. Welsh.283 

XXXIV Fair Means and Foul.293 

XXXV The Carcass Delicious.301 

XXXVI A Sliver of Steel.307 

XXXVII Dead Men Tell No Tales.319 

XXXVIII Meddling Maids. .329 

XXXIX The Show-Down.338 

XL Trail’s End.350 


















Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


CHAPTER I 

ROPED 

H EAT — the dry baking heat of mid-afternoon in south¬ 
eastern New Mexico. A sky of crystalline turquoise 

blue. 

The grays and browns of the sun-drenched landscape 
wavered off to the vague horizon like a robe of soft velvet. 
The few nearby trees, the grandstand and corrals, the horses 
and cars and big longhorn Texas steers and all the dense 
crowd at the rodeo, stood out in vivid glare and shade, as if 
the sunshine were white-hot moonlight. 

Yet Tyrrel, the unknown contestant from Colorado, was 
probably the only person who noticed the odd chiaroscuro of 
brilliant light and black shadows. He alone of the surging, 
shouting mob appeared altogether cool and detached. 

He did not share the half-savage, half-fearful delight of 
the spectators over the bulldogging. A steer-throwing con¬ 
test was all right. Such work punchers must know how to do 
well. Out on the range cattle had to be thrown and hog-tied 
for branding. 

Contest riding of outlaws was also in line with the calling 
of a cowboy. Broncho-busters were necessary on the open 
range where riders could not wait for horses to be gentled. 
But bulldogging required less skill and nerve than riding a 
really bad outlaw, and it served no useful purpose in the life 
of a top rider. It was needless brutality. 

1 



2 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


The seventh bulldogger threw his steer almost in record 
time. The wild burst of yells and cheers failed to stir Tyrrel. 
He was eyeing the next contestant. The man’s coarse boar¬ 
like face showed too much dark red. He lurched as he stepped 
forward to mount. 

Tyrrel quietly shifted around to the off side of Ante, his 
big-boned, fleabitten gray. His own turn was near. It was 
natural for him to look over his horse and test the cinch. 
No one noticed him unbuckle the strap that held his coiled 
rope. 

He shifted back around to the near side, rubbing the gray’s 
ugly Roman nose and patting the scraggy neck under the 
scant mane. 

Ante’s strong point was not beauty. The cowboys nearby 
had grinningly dubbed him 44 Slouch ” and 44 Bones ” and 
44 Rat-Tail.” Keen judges of horseflesh as they were, few 
among them—so long as he stood slouching at rest — saw 
more than his scrubby mane and tail, his ewe neck and chuckle 
head and big out-sticking bones. Yet a second glance should 
have shown them that the down-curve of the neck was due 
to the height of the withers, and that the forelegs owed their 
deceptive appearance of shortness to the great depth of chest 
and forebody. 

Behind the saddle the beast’s flanks and belly gantered in 
as if he had just come through a hard winter. A bag of 
grain, placed on his sharply sloped hindquarters, would have 
slipped down over the ratty low-set tail. A horse built aft 
on the plan of a Russian wolfhound with swollen joints, could 
not expect to win blue ribbons for form. 

Tyrrel had given no heed to the raillery of his fellows. 
He knew his horse. And now he had something else to rivet his 
attention. As the flushed-faced contestant rode out upon the 
dusty sod of the 44 arena ” a more than usually wild steer was 
loosed from the chute. 



Roped 


3 


The manner in which the half-drunken bulldogger drove at 
his prize proved him an old hand at the game. He shot 
alongside and made the jump to the steer’s back with a reck¬ 
less daring that won yells from the crowd. No less skilfully, 
he lurched forward to grip the horns and somersault down 
over the head of the bellowing beast. 

Bootleg whiskey is a bad bracer for feats of strength and 
skill. As the bulldogger thudded to the ground, the steer 
gave a wrench that broke the grip of one hand. A sideward 
plunge and jump jerked free the other horn. Tail up and 
head down, the steer lunged past the defeated man, ripping 
open his chaps from thigh to knee. But, with drunkard’s 
luck, the bulldogger happened to be rolling away. The tip 
of the horn barely scratched his leg. 

Forewarned by what he had seen of the man’s condition, 
Tyrrel “got the jump” on even the mounted guards whose 
duty it was to be alert for just such emergencies. As he 
whipped into his saddle, Ante leaped with the suddenness of 
an Indian racing pony. 

The steer did not circle. Maddened by fear and rage, he 
dashed straight ahead for the crowd-packed border of the 
big arena, opposite the grandstand. As usual, the front rows 
of spectators consisted for the most part of women and chil¬ 
dren. Several women held babies in their arms. From all 
sides came screams and yells. 

The guards raced to head off the wild runaway, swinging 
their ropes and digging in their spurs. The screaming women 
and children in line with the steer’s mad charge struggled 
frantically to surge back and aside, out of his way. But 
the jam of the crowd behind was too dense for quick move¬ 
ment. The steer hurled towards them at top speed — a living 
catapult — more than half a ton of solid bone and muscle, 
driven by panic fury. 

Only one of the ropers seemed anywhere near enough to 



4 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


spur his horse within reach in time. The yells of the more 
distant onlookers choked into a hush of horror that waited 
the crash of the steer into the milling crowd. 

Two men, both afoot, burst out from amongst the screech¬ 
ing women and children — one a small baldheaded man dressed 
like a banker or merchant, the other a big fellow in a pink 
silk shirt and immaculate white Angora chaps. Both jumped 
in front of the charging steer. 

From the left the nearest guard cast his rope — and missed. 
Off to the right the big-boned Ante was coming aslant the 
crowd in a terrific burst of speed. But he was still two 
lengths farther away than the guard. The breathless mob 
looked to see the steer smash over the two men. Then would 
come the turn of the children. 

At the extreme length of his rope, Tyrrel cast with a loop 
so small that the slightest mis-aim would have meant fail¬ 
ure .... the loop dropped over the horns of the steer. 

Ante sat down, with his forehoofs plowing up the sod. 
Snubbed by the taut rope, the steer thudded over on his side 
as if shot through the brain. Before he could recover from 
the stunning shock, three guards dashed up and noosed his 
legs. 

Tyrrel shook loose his rope and quietly started to coil it 
in. Ante had already gotten up off his haunches. He 
slouched and sagged his head as if disposed to take a nap. 

The small man in city clothes came around the steer, wip¬ 
ing his bald head with a spotless linen handkerchief. His 
gray eyes peered shrewdly up through their shell-rimmed 
spectacles into the cool, ruddy brown eyes of Tyrrel. 

44 Boy, you can rope.” 

“ Lucky throw, sir. A length too far away. Had to take 
the chance, though.” 

The baldheaded man smiled genially and held up a gold- 
mounted cigar case. Tyrrel took out one of the long 



Roped 


5 


Havanas, reclosed the case, and reached it down. 

“No, keep it — case and all, boy.” 

“ Thanks, I’m not dude-wrangling,” said Tyrrel. 

“You don’t understand, cowboy. We were in that nearest 
car-” 

“ It’s not a flivver — large enough to’ve stopped him. Of 
course, though, he might have mussed it up a bit.” 

“ I said, you don’t understand. My sister and ward are in 
the car — there she is now.” 

A vigorous young woman in severe motoring costume had 
pushed out of the crowed. She spoke to the man in the pink 
shirt, glanced indifferently at the outstretched steer, and 
lifted her gauntleted hand in a beckoning gesture. 

Though the sign was meant for her brother, Tyrrel saw 
her imperious glance fix upon himself. There was nothing of 
prettiness in the beauty of her richly colored face. The 
straight brows and rather large mouth, the firm round chin 
and finely moulded nose, all told of strength and will. 

Tyrrel put back the cigar that he had taken out, and 
thrust the case into the reluctant hand of the girl’s brother. 

“Too good a smoke to burn in a hurry, sir, and I don’t 
want it to get mashed,” he explained. “ I’ll take it after the 
riding, if you don’t mind. Better move. They’re giving the 
steer slack.” 

“Very well. I’ll see you, then, after the riding. I’m 
Donald Keith of the Kay Kay.” 

With another wipe at his bald head, Keith dodged between 
the guards and under one of the slackened ropes that held the 
up-plunging steer. The big pink-shirted man swung past 
him, the long white wool of his chaps waving with the hurried¬ 
ness of his stride. 

“ I’m going to show them how to bulldog this wild one of 
Butch’s, Don,” he said. “ Get Gerda back, if you can. The 
crazy cuss may bust loose again ’fore I get my crack at him.” 




6 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


The steer emphasized this statement by a vicious lunge 
towards one of his captors. The tautened ropes of the 
others stopped him none too soon. 

Keith hastened to where his sister was holding out an 
immense, silver-banded, high-peaked sombrero. 

“ Put it on quick, Donnie. You’ll get another stroke,” she 
ordered. 

He gave the wet sponge in the double crown a quick squeeze 
and clapped the sombrero upon his bald dome. With it on, 
he looked no older than his three-and-thirty years. He 
grasped his sister’s arm. 

“You heard Mat. Come back to the car.” 

The steer made another rush, this time towards the outer 
guard. The others followed, so that the plunging, bellowing 
beast shifted himself out towards the center of the contest 
ground and saved his captors the trouble of dragging him. 

Gerda Keith shook off her brother’s hand. 

“It’s a better view from here, Donnie. Go and chaperon 
Pilar if you like. Two to one, Mat downs him in record 
time — or better.” 

Keith resignedly swung around beside her. 

“ What makes you think Mat may break the record ? ” 

The girl’s keen glance turned to where Tyrrel was back¬ 
ing Ante in among the horses of the other contestants. 

“Oh, I told him that toss of the rope was the prettiest I 
ever saw. Someone said the boy is Dick Tyrrel of Colorado. 
He’s entered for all the men’s events. Of course Mat is hot 
now to show him up. That’s why he demanded this rampag¬ 
ing steer.” 

Keith looked grave. 

“ The boy saved all these women and youngsters from being 
trampled, Gerda. For decency’s sake, don’t set Mat on him.” 

“ Why blame me? ” The girl’s gray-green eyes glinted and 
sparkled. “ If Tyrrel is a real contestant, and not a four- 



Roped 


7 


flusher, he’ll not mind. Look! There goes Mat.” 

The guards had shaken their ropes free from the steer’s 
legs. They were spurring off in three directions. The mad¬ 
dened beast snorted and charged after the nearest man. Big 
Mat dashed at him on a nimble cowpony. He swept alongside. 
With the quickness of a bear, he jumped the steer, flung him¬ 
self over forward, and threw his beast. 

Yells split the air when the timers announced that Mr. 
Welsh of the Kay Kay had broken the local record by half 
a second. 

He left his pony at the horse corral with a Kay Kay 
wrangler, and skirted along the front of the crowd towards 
the Keiths, carelessly slapping the dusty wool of his Angora 
chaps with his gloves. Gerda’s rather condescending smile 
of approval brought a glow into his cold blue eyes and 
softened the grimness of his full, strong, thin-lipped face. 

“ Might be worse,” she said. “ You’ve made a record — the 
new record — unless Colorado goes you one better.” 

“No chance of that,” put in Keith. “The boy isn’t built 
for bulldogging. Mat is.” 

If the statement covered a double meaning, Welsh failed 
to catch it. He ranged himself alongside the girl and faced 
the open. 

“You’re dead right, Don,” he said. “ Colorow will drag. 
I’ve got him beat now, and when it comes to the riding and 
hog-tying he won’t have a show.” 

“ Quien sabe? Sabe Dios,” remarked Keith. 

But the words were murmured, not spoken. Welsh had 
bought into the Kay Kay at the spring round-up, and he 
had proved himself a first-rate young cowman. 

The announcer gave Tyrrel of Colorado as last man on 
the list of bulldoggers. 

Ante made a dash that displayed the power and swiftness 
of his ugly frame. Tyrrel jumped even quicker than had 



8 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Welsh. But he lacked the cowman’s weight. What counted 
still more against him he also lacked a certain trait possessed 
by Welsh — the one that links the nature of a born bulldogger 
to that of the dog from which the sport is named. He lost 
first place by exactly the difference between the old record 
and the new one. 

“ Told you I’d show him up,” said Welsh. “ Second money 
for him.” 

“He has a horse though,” chuckled Gerda. “Bet you a 
hundred, the pair take first money on the tying.” 

“ I’ll cover that with two hundred, pard,” said Welsh. 
“Let’s go eat. Nothing worth while left for today.” 

Keith lingered to look around for Tyrrel. He had not for¬ 
gotten the returned cigar. But the Coloradoan was nowhere 
in sight. 

Back at the car its sole occupant — a pretty black-eyed 
senorita with hair coiffured high in Spanish style — was mak¬ 
ing hay while the sun shone and the cat was away. Two 
young punchers, total strangers, had bucked through the 
crowd to fetch her oranges and pop. A third was trying 
to talk to her in Spanish. 

One glance from Gerda Keith abashed the lot. As they 
slunk back she turned upon the little coquet. 

“You silly yearling! Throw out that chuck.” 

The young girl whitened but made no move to obey. Keith 
interposed with good-humored authority. 

“ I will attend to it — and to Pilar, Gerda. You’re attract¬ 
ing attention.” 

His sister gave the crowd a disdainful glance and took the 
driver’s seat. Welsh swung in beside her. Behind their backs 
the genially smiling Keith passed three of his cigars to the 
crestfallen boys. He jumped into the tonneau to uncap a 
bottle of pop and offer it to his ward. 

“Here, nina — drown your sorrows in the flowing bowl.” 





Roped 


9 


The girl’s black eyes flashed. 

I m not a nina nor a ninny, either! And I won’t drink a 
single drop. She — she’s poisoned it! ” 

“Too bad, ni — Pilar mia. But I am dry and hot, and it 
is wet and cold, even though poisoned. Tell them I died 
happy.” 

The fizzing pop began to gurgle into his upturned mouth. 
Pilar snatched the opener from him, uncapped a bottle, and 
flung forward to reach it down over Welsh’s thick shoulder. 
He was hotter and drier than Keith. The pop had begun 
to fizz behind his thin lips before he thought to offer first drink 
to Gerda. Her look of scorn sent the bottle out over the 
side of the car. 

Back in the tonneau Pilar smiled sweetly and started to 
peel an orange. 

“You see! Mat also finds it bad medicine. Even ginger 
ale is apt to upset the stomach. It’s very bad for a girl’s 
complexion, Don Seftor. Besides, I like oranges better. See 
if one of them would choke Gerda.” 

“ You little — kitten! ” reproached Keith. “ If only you’d 
keep your claws in and stop purring to the men; you know 
that Gerda means well.” 

“ I’ve heard of the place that’s paved with good intentions, 
Don Senor .” 

“Try to keep out of it,” advised Keith. He took off his 
big hat. “ This place is hot enough for anyone.” 

Pilar mockingly opened a fan and began to waft air over 
his bald head. He caught her plump little wrist and took the 
fan from her as if she were a naughty child. She drew back 
into the corner of the seat, her eyes hot with hurt and resent¬ 
ment, and her scarlet lips pouting. 



CHAPTER II 


ON THE MAKE 

T YRREL had not forgotten his cigar. After one look 
at the giver’s sister he could not have forgotten even 
if he had wished to. But he had no intention of claiming 
the gift before the favorable moment for which he had planned 
when he returned both cigar and case to the girl’s brother. 

Loss of first place in the bulldogging to the Keiths’ pink- 
shirted friend caused him to lose himself in the crowd. Miss 
Keith had not looked like a girl who would waste much sym¬ 
pathy on a loser. Pity was the last thing one would expect 
from that proudly erect head and almost arrogant air. 

Her well rounded figure had moved with lithe ease, but its 
suppleness had been that of a steel blade, not the soft pliancy 
,of a vine. Nothing of the clinging tendril about her! She 
possessed all the strength and vitality and hardness of per¬ 
fect health. 

“With a tin hat and a shirt of can lids, she’d pass for one 
of those old-time Norse war-maidens — a Valkyrie,” Tyrrel 
told himself. 

A casual question about the Keiths, put to a wolfish faced 
puncher with a single red eye, let loose a flood of talk. 

No, the Kay Kay was not one of the biggest outfits in the 
state, but it had the class. Though Don Keith looked like 
he belonged behind a ribbon counter, record was yet to be 
made of any cattle deal in which he had come out at the 
little end of the horn. 

Mat Welsh was a cowman right. He could bust horses 
and men as well as Keith could gentle them. He patterned 
after his father, old One-Gun Welsh, who at his age had 

10 


On the Make 


11 


taken a leading part in the Lincoln County war, yet had 
lived to die with his boots off. Most of his enemies had died 
with theirs on, in front of his single Colts. Small cause for 
surprise that the son of such a father should bust the bull- 
dogging record. Odds were offered that he would also pull 
down first money in the riding and hog-tying contests. 

As for the lady member of the Kay Kay, she needed no 
touting. Any cowboy could size up her fine points for him¬ 
self. It was “ handsome is as handsome does” too. She 
could ride, she could rope, she could shoot. 

“Reg’lar what-they-used-to-call cattle queen,” remarked 
Tyrrel. 

His one-eyed informant slammed him on the shoulder. 

“Buddy, you done said a mouthful! It’ll take a honest- 
to-goodness cow king to get his rope and brand on that gal. 
She’s a keen filly. I ain’t betting on nobody, not even on 
Big Mat. She can queen like she can ride — and when it 
comes to riding! She’s entered in the free-for-all tomor¬ 
row. Between her and Mat, buddy, the Kay Kay is a-going 
to skin you out of first place in all the big events.” 

“Well, I’ll not sneeze at second money — if I’m lucky 
enough to win it,” mildly replied Tyrrel. “Here’s the sack 
race. Maybe I can make a first in it, anyhow.” 

The puncher’s lip drew up in a wolfish sneer. What kind 
of a fourflusher was this? A big-event contestant willing to 
scuffle in the dust with a bunch of greasers for a picayune 
ten-dollar prize! But Tyrrel coolly ignored the sneer. He 
stepped into a gunnysack and started off with the excited 
boys and Mexicans. When he came back, the ten-dollar bill 
nestled in his pocket. 

The sack race closed the day’s program. Tyrrel slung 
his bed-roll on Ante and jogged up-creek, away from town, 
to his lone camp in the mesquite. Hotels cost money. 

The morning program opened with boy and girl races. 



12 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


For these Tyrrel was ineligible. Next came fancy rope work. 
In this contest only one man threatened to match the Colo¬ 
radoan. He was a motion-picture cowboy who had never 
ridden the range a day in his life. Before breaking into the 
movies he had been a vaudeville juggler. In mere trickery, 
his twirling of the rope went beyond the utmost skill of 
Tyrrel. 

But the second part of the contest eliminated the movie 
man. It called for real rope work. Tyrrel, without moving 
his feet, roped as commanded each and every leg of a horse 
that was ridden past him at a gallop. To round out the 
exhibition, he roped the horse by the tail and, with two 
twists of the wrists, haltered him with loops around the neck 
and bit. 

Over in the Keith car Gerda smiled at the frowning Welsh. 

“ There goes your hog-tie money, Mat.” 

“To that slick Slim Jim? Not much!” 

“His name’s not Jim, Mat — it’s Dick,” corrected Pilar 
from the tonneau. She turned, ardent-eyed, to her guardian. 
“Wasn’t that wonderful? He’s a real campeador — and 
such a dear! Don’t you think so, Gerda? Give me a fifty, 
Don Senor, to bet Mat he’s going to be roped and ridden.” 

It was Keith’s turn to frown. 

“ If you can’t bet on your own outfit, at least don’t back 
an outsider.” 

“ What else can you expect of a — of her ? ” asked Gerda. 
“ I tell you, she needs at least another year in the convent.” 

“Oh, no, no!” Pilar clutched Keith’s arm in a panic. 
“ If you make me go back, Don Senor , I’ll run away. To be 
shut up again, away from those who ought to be kindest! 
It was almost as bad as the way Gerda rides me! ” 

Keith patted the clinging little hands. 

“ There, there, nina. I’ll give you another month to show 
Gerda you can be sensible. There’s our long roper lining up 



On the Make 


13 


for the bundle race. What do you say to his noble night¬ 
mare steed, Mat? Strikes me, Gerda will need her quirt in 
the free-for-all.” 

66 That scarecrow! ” scoffed Gerda. 44 Lobo can give him 
three lengths’ start and win by six.” 

44 1 wouldn’t bet on that yet awhile,” cautioned Welsh. 
44 He’s a horse. Saw him stretch yesterday. This fool bundle 
run should give us a line on him.” 

Each contestant had been shown his bundle of woman’s 
apparel in the row laid down before the grandstand. All 
jogged out to the far end of the course. At the pop of the 
starter’s pistol they came galloping in a wild rush. 

At the start several smaller horses 44 got the jump” on 
Ante. Tyrrel swung his spurs and yelled and beat the gray’s 
shoulder with his hat. The 44 scarecrow” began to gain on 
the field. Half way down the course he forged ahead of the 
ruck. But four other racers came first to the line of bundles. 

Tyrrel appeared to be a certain loser — until he pitched 
over Ante’s big head and landed square before his bundle. 
The foremost men were handling their feminine garments with 
masculine awkwardness. Tyrrel ripped open his bundle as he 
caught it up, shook out the divided skirt by the band, and 
jumped into it. His long arms shot out of their elbows 
through the sleeves of the brilliant kimono. 

The uprush of the field had set most of the riderless horses 
to shying and prancing. Ante stood with down-sagged head 
as if half asleep. But he had turned about. Tyrrel, with 
the skirt of his kimono flying like a banner, leap-frogged into 
his saddle over those sloping hindquarters. His quickness in 
dressing and mounting gave Ante a three-length start over 
the next quickest racer. He won the return heat by a neck. 

44 Just luck,” said Welsh. 44 No dark horse there, Miss 
Gerda. It’s fleabitten gray to the bone. He’d have lost if 
Slim Jim hadn’t taken up the slack with his quick-change- 



14 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


actor stunt.” 

“ Such a showing, and not another horse in the bunch a 
real thoroughbred! ” agreed the girl. “1 could give them all 
four lengths, and win at a walk.” 

“No doubt of it — if you can hold Lobo down in such a 
mob,” qualified her brother. Behind his shell-rim spectacles 
his gray eyes clouded. “Be sensible for once, Gerda. Let 
Mat ride for you.” 

She smiled at his alarm. 

“What excuse shall I send to the judges? That I’ve 
broken my neck, or that I have a headache? They’d of 
course believe me. They’re all too gentlemanly to guess I 
have a yellow streak.” 

“You may have all three — headache, broken neck and 
streak — if Lobo goes loco." 

“Well, it’s my funeral, Donnie — and my horse. If he 
rounds out your program, I bequeath you the pleasure of 
shooting him on my grave. I admire for to ride his ghost to 
the happy hunting grounds.” 

“A la Injin!” murmured Pilar. 

The thorn failed to scratch even the surface of Gerda’s 
composure. 

“Not Indian, nina, but white man — real honest-to-good- 
ness white, without a tinge of greaser. Don’t you remember 
that old stray copy of tenth-century Icelandic tales — Grettir 
the Strong and Burnt Njal and the rest? Those viking boys 
could ride. They rode their war horses to Valhalla. I’ll ride 
Lobo — or his ghost.” 

“Oh, Gerda — and you call yourself a Christian! Ave 
Maria , salvar nos!" 

“ Don’t be silly. There comes the first steer. What d’you 
say, Mat? After that fancy rope work, it looks as if 
Colorado ought to be handy with a hogging string.” 

Welsh reddened. 



On the Make 


15 


“He’s a fourflusher. Wait and see. I’ll show him up.” 

To Keith and most of the other cowmen, the new contest 
held more interest than had the bulldogging. In rapid suc¬ 
cession, steer after steer was sent plunging from the chute 
to be roped, thrown and hog-tied by the contestants. There 
were many expert ropers, all keen to win first honors and 
the unusually large money prize. Two men shaded the record, 
and one bettered it by a quarter-second. 

At last came Welsh’s turn. He used a heavy rope and 
threw his steer with a jerk that almost broke the beast’s neck. 
As in the bulldogging, his attack was made with the ferocious 
swiftness of a grizzly. It clipped a full half second from 
the record. 

“ Cinched it,” he announced when he plowed back to the 
car through the applauding crowd. “How about Colorow 
now? Two to one he misses pulling down even second money.” 

“A hundred on that,” Gerda caught at the offer with 
aggravating promptness. 

“May as well write me your check now, and save time 
later,” countered Welsh. 

Gerda smiled and gazed off aslant the crowd to where 
Tyrrel was unbuckling his rope from its saddle strap. The 
second of the two local men who had followed Welsh was 
bungling his job. A few moments, however, and his steer had 
been shunted out of the way. 

As Tyrrel’s steer plunged from the chute, Ante jumped. 
Here was real cow work. Unlike Welsh’s victim, the steer did 
not crash down hard enough to be stunned. Though held 
from rising by Ante’s steady pull on the taut rope, he threshed 
his legs about wildly. Yet somehow their kicks seemed in¬ 
tended only to meet the swift twists of Tyrrel’s hogging 
string. 

Up shot Tyrrel’s hands. The steer’s legs no longer waved. 
They were lashed together — hog-tied. 



16 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


When the surprised judges had made sure of the tie, they 
announced the time of the Coloradoan — a full second under 
the record! As there were no more contestants, the half- 
second betterment of Welsh’s time spelled victory. 

The yelling and whooping brought no flush into Tyrrel’s 
lean cheeks. He smiled his acknowledgment of the judges’ 
congratulations and turned Ante in the direction of the Keith 
car. 

The crowd had begun to break up for the noon recess. 
Hundreds of hero worshippers swarmed out to stare at the 
winner. Before he could weave his horse clear of the jam, 
the Keith car had rolled into the drive and was flowing away 
in the solid stream of cars and trucks. 

“Whoa, Ante,” he said. “That smoke is adjourned — but 
not sine die . What d’you say to a Scotch lunch? Hatful of 
oats and enough water to wet your whistle. You may have 
to shake a leg in the free-for-all. They say she has a horse 
that can stretch.” 

When, promptly at one, the Keith car rolled back to the 
spot assigned to it by favor of the rodeo marshal, the left 
fender grazed the lean thigh of Tyrrel. Without seeming 
to look, he noted the girl’s ranch riding-dress — high-heeled 
boots, divided skirt, khaki blouse, old Stetson, six-inch cow¬ 
boy belt of thick leather. 

He lifted his own weathered Stetson as he looked past the 
girl to her brother. 

“Howdy, Mr. Keith. If you don’t mind, I’ll trouble you 
now for that cigar of mine.” 

Keith held out the open case and glanced inquiringly at 
his sister. Custom and good manners made an introduction 
in order. The boy was not a roughneck. Yet if Gerda chose 
to take offense. 

Her ungloved hand went out to the Coloradoan with 
gracious condescension. He found her grasp as firm as his 




On the Make 


17 


own and vibrant with energy. Her gray-green eyes favored 
him with a glow of interest. 

“ Glad to meet you, Tyrrel.” 

“ The pleasure is mine, Miss Keith.” 

“Not all of it. Call it fifty-fifty. Your hogging string 
noosed me a two-hundred bet. Mr. Welsh thought he had 
first money cinched with that half second.” 

“ Got to own up you can rope, Colorow,” admitted Welsh. 
“I beat you, though, on the bulldogging. I’ll repeat when 
it comes to the riding. How about a side bet? What’s your 
limit? I’ll give you ten to seven odds.” 

Tyrrel’s face took on a look of sadness. 

“Too good, Mr. Welsh. It’d be a shame to take the 
money.” 

“ Think you’re sure to win, do you ? ” 

“ Gambling is immoral and against the law. I’ll leave it 
to Miss Keith if it isn’t. Besides, he’s a poor sport who 
bets on a sure thing.” 

“Dead sure you can ride, are you?” 

Tyrrel cogitated over his answer. 

“Well, I do rather count on being able to stick — least- 
ways up to the time he makes his first jump.” 

Even Welsh could not hold back a grin. 

“ If you were a Kay Kay rider, we’d wish you luck,” said 
Keith. “As it is, all we can say is, may the best man win.” 

“ Thanks. I’ll try to,” replied Tyrrel without a trace of 
a smile. 

“Oh, you’ll win, Mr. Tyrrel — of course you will!” ex¬ 
claimed Pilar. “You’ll have to! You’re going to carry my 
colors! ” 

She snatched a cluster of artificial flowers from the bosom 
of her filmy blouse and pressed it upon Tyrrel before either 
Keith or Gerda could interfere. Tyrrel could not dodge. To 
have rejected the lady’s colors would have been rude. Nor 




18 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


liad he any wish to refuse. The tender challenge in the young 
girl’s black eyes made acceptance easy, even in the presence 
of Gerda Keith. 

Gerda gave the little coquet a look that goaded her brother 
out of his own annoyance. He rallied to the defense of his 
ward and sought to smooth over the awkward situation with 
a show of conventionality. 

“ Pilar, permit me to introduce Mr. Dick Tyrrel of Colo¬ 
rado. Tyrrel, my cousin Miss Chavez.” 

Tyrrel flourished his hat in a Spanish bow. 

6i I give you buenos diets , senorita. Muchas gracias for 
your colors. I see gold in them but no yellow. If I don’t 
prove a good knight for my lady, it’ll be good night for me. 
Won’t some kind friend lend me a safety pin?” 

“ Come to me,” invited Pilar. “ You needn’t look so savage, 
Gerda. He couldn’t wear your colors, anyway. He’ll be rid¬ 
ing against you.” 

“If she drops hers, I might pick them up,” suggested 
Tyrrel. 

“You of course mean during the race,” said Gerda. 

Her tone was haughty. The caressing touches with which 
Pilar was securing her colors to the breast of Tyrrel’s shirt 
with her gold clasp pin would have exasperated a saint. The 
silly baby vamp! 

“ That was my thought, Miss Keith,” agreed Tyrrel. 
“Ante horse sometimes gets off on the wrong hoof. When 
shall I hand your favors back to you — mid-heat, or when 
you follow me over the line?” 

“That’s enough from you!” broke in Welsh. “You’ll 
find it ain’t healthy trying to be funny with a Kay Kay 
lady. Vamos /” 

Tyrrel gave Gerda a look of bland innocence. 

“That means, ‘get out,’ doesn’t it? May I assist you to 
get out too? They’re clearing the course for the free-for-all. 



On the Make 


19 


I’ll let you bust a way for me through the herd, if you’re so 
set on leading.” 

Gerda did not lack a sense of humor. She swung out beside 
the lean young Coloradoan. 

“No, Mat. Don’t bother. Tyrrel will see me mounted 
all right.” 

Welsh’s strong face purpled. From behind him Pilar all 
but threw a kiss to the bearer of her colors. Keith missed 
the enticing by-play of his seat-mate. 

“Wait, Gerda,” he urged. “It’s not yet too late. That 
crazy devil — let Mat ride him.” 

“Are you so anxious to get rid of poor Mat?” mocked 
the girl. “You know very well, Donnie, when Fm no longer 
able to ride my own mount, you’ll find me on a stretcher.” 



CHAPTER III 




BY A HEAD AND NECK 

O N THEIR way to the horse corral the girl gave Tyrrel 
a glance of genuine friendliness. 

“ Not looking for a first in this, are you?” 

“I could use the money.” 

“ Well, if you have any side money up on it, better hedge. 
My Lobo comes of pedigreed racers.” 

“ Much obliged —and I’ll swap tips. You may turn your 
wolf loose, but he may not head the pack. Ante has a streak 
in him. It’s not yellow — it’s greased lightning. Too bad! 
I sure hate to see a lady lose.” 

Gerda’s eyes flashed with emerald fire. 

“ I’m not a woman in this — I’m a contestant. If you pull 
your horse in my favor, I’ll quirt you into taking the dirty 
money.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll pull down that first money without 
any favor from you or anyone else,” countered Tyrrel. 

They came to the horse corral. A lame little gray-haired 
Kay Kay wrangler had saddled Gerda’s thoroughbred. But 
the big high-strung roan was half frenzied from sight and 
sound and smell of whirring motors and yelling mobs. When, 
with an expert hop mount, Gerda flung herself up into the 
saddle, he reared so high that he almost toppled over back¬ 
wards. On coming down, he whirled and cannoned into the 
side of the corral. 

Most women would have shrieked. Gerda pulled his head 
down with a steady powerful grip on the Spanish curb bit 
that soon had him under control. He stood quivering, ears 
back, eyes wild. 


20 


By a Head and Neck 


21 


“Lobo— he looks it,” said Tyrrel, who had caught up a 
short wrangler’s rope for emergency use, in case the thorough¬ 
bred got out of hand. 

Gerda smiled so disdainfully over his alarm for her that he 
hastened off to saddle Ante. 

The free-for-all course was a half-mile straightaway, from 
the outer end of the rodeo grounds to the gap between the 
far corner of the grandstand and the barbecue pits. The 
tests of preliminary races had caused all but nine of the 
entries to drop out. 

The feminine partner of the Kay Kay was the only lady 
contestant. As such, she was offered choice of position in 
the starting-line. She took the middle, where her roan would 
be farthest from the incrowding spectators along each border 
of the course. Lobo had come up from the corral dancing 
sideways, crab-style, ahead of the sleepy-eyed Ante. 

Tyrrel found himself placed near the right end of the line. 
He waited as tranquilly as his horse. At the crack of the 
pistol the other men dug in their spurs for a jumping start. 
Tyrrel allowed Ante to get into his stride as he pleased. A 
half mile run does not call for the leap-off of a short dash. 

For the moment Tyrrel’s interest centered upon Gerda 
Keith. At the shot he saw the roan go up into the air. 
Before Gerda could pull down the rearing beast, all the other 
horses were leaping away in full stride. Lobo caught the 
bit in his teeth and bolted after the field. 

Ante had started off among the tail-enders. He did not 
stay with them. From a distance he appeared to float 
through the ruck like a gray shadow. Half way down the 
course he came up to within three lengths of the sprinting 
leaders. The pair, both of them quarter-horses, were already 
beginning to blow. Ante’s nostrils had hardly opened. He 
ran with an easy slouching gait as deceptive as the slinking 
lope of a coyote. Nothing about him suggested strain or 



22 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


unusual speed. The heavy look of his forebody and the 
smooth play of his wolfhound hindquarters deceived the eye. 

So far Tyrrel had been called upon to do nothing more 
than sit his saddle. He began to consider the advisability 
of pulling Ante in a little. To win by a wide margin is not 
good racing strategy. Only thing, that Keith thoroughbred 
might yet prove dangerous. What could have become of 
him? 

Yells of fear from the spectators on the right answered 
the question. The big roan was dashing furiously along the 
edge of the crowd at runaway speed. Hard as Gerda tugged 
to veer him clear, the backward surge of the terrified spec¬ 
tators alone saved the foremost from being trampled. 

“Ante horse,” said Tyrrel, “ this begins to look like a race. 
Better step on the gas.” 

A touch of the spur served as accelerator. Ante began to 
run in earnest. The thoroughbred had already come up 
opposite him — was forging ahead. Ante lunged into his full 
stride. He swept past the slowing leaders. Instead of los¬ 
ing more ground to the roan, he began to regain what he 
had lost. 

Another quarter of the course flew back under the swift¬ 
thudding hoofs of the roan and the gray. Only a few seconds 
now to the goal line. Ante was still gaining. He came up 
with the runaway roan neck and neck — he crept into the 
lead by a head, by a neck, by half a length. 

Tyrrel shot a glance across at his rival. Gerda did not 
return the look. She had need of her utmost skill and 
strength and courage to out-fight her crazed horse’s obsession 
to swerve into the crowd. All down the remainder of the 
course the people were heaving back. But the farther the 
front of the crowd receded, the farther the runaway edged 
over to that side. 

The space in front of the grandstand had been kept clear 



By a Head and Neck 


23 


of spectators. Its six-foot plank wall stood slightly oblique 
to the race course. At the very moment that Tyrrel felt 
certain of victory he saw the danger. Unless forced out, the 
maddened thoroughbred would angle against that solid plank 
front of the grandstand. Going as he was at top speed, the 
glancing crash would mean disaster. The best that his rider 
could hope for would be a crushed leg. 

A touch of the rein swerved Ante to the right. The cross¬ 
slant lost ground for him. He made the edge of the course 
half a length behind the roan. Close ahead rose the in¬ 
angling barrier of the grandstand front. 

Spurred to his utmost effort, Ante seemed to flatten down. 
With a tremendous burst of speed, he shot forward between 
the back-struggling crowd and the runaway. He grazed so 
close alongside the roan that Tyrrel had to jerk up his left 
leg to clear Gerda’s knee and stirrup. 

The side of Ante’s chuckle head was almost scraping the 
grandstand when his heavy forebody swung out against the 
shoulder of the roan. The shock staggered the runaway. 
He reeled to the left. Ante grazed the planks and veered 
clear, to again crowd over against the roan. He shouldered 
him all during the wild plunging finish along the front of 
the stand. 

A few yards across the goal line Gerda brought the run¬ 
away to a stop with a tug on the bit that almost broke his 
jaw. Heedless of the other inrushing racers, she flashed a 
furious look from Tyrrel to the judges. 

“I protest the race!” she cried. “This man interfered.” 

One of the judges, a cadaverous bowlegged old cowman, 
walked out towards her through the dust of the last racer. 

“’Scuse me, ma’am,” he said. “Just a minute while 
some’un calls a doctor for the boy.” 

“Doctor?” questioned the angry girl. 

“No, I’m all right,” declared Tyrrel. “No bones broken. 



24 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


It just barked the skin. Wouldn’t have done even that if 
I’d had on my chaps.” 

Gerda wheeled her horse around to the right side of the 
winner. All the way down, from knee to boot top, his leg 
showed crimson through the rent in his blue overalls. 

“You see,” he said. “Just scraped it a bit against the 
planks. About your protest — it’s well taken. I own up 
to the interfering.” 

The girl’s eyes blazed with exasperation. 

“Don’t lie! That protest is recalled. You ought to 
know I made it while still too furious to realize what you had 
done. Is that enough, or do you demand a written apology? 
You won by a neck, and saved mine — also Lobo’s.” 

“If you say I win, that’s enough, Miss Keith. It spells 
first money. Golden salve soothes the sordid soul.” 

“You’ll come with me. There’s a first-aid kit in the car.” 

“Thanks. I’ll take you up on that. Need my leg this 
afternoon for the riding.” 

The Keiths’ car came plowing through the midday upbreak 
of the crowd. Shouldered by Ante, the thoroughbred pranced 
to meet the car without again trying to bolt. 

At sight of Tyrrel’s leg Pilar’s black eyes widened. She 
swayed over with her dainty head against Keith’s immaculate 
shirt front. Tyrrel smiled reassurance at her as he drew 
off and drained his boot. 

“Nothing to get scared over, Miss Chavez. It’s like 
beauty — merely skin deep. You see, I’m still carrying your 
colors.” 

“Would you mind taking both horses to the corral, Mat? ” 
requested Keith. “ Tyrrel will lunch with us.” 

Welsh went off with the horses, none too willingly, while 
Pilar cut and lighted a cigar for Tyrrel. Gerda already 
had the first-aid kit open. With cool efficiency, she treated 
Sand bandaged Tyrrel’s leg. Though he did not wince, he 



By a Head and Neck 


25 


puffed rather quickly at his cigar. There was little of 
womanly tenderness either in Gerda’s look or in the touch 
of her strong white fingers. She must have known that so 
large a skin scraping was far more painful than a deep 
wound of smaller surface. But she spoke no word of sym¬ 
pathy. 

At the other extreme, Pilar watched the hasty operation 
with hands clasped and scarlet lips murmuring coos of com¬ 
passion for her brave campeador. Both Keith and Gerda 
betrayed annoyance over the young girl’s indiscreet sweet¬ 
ness to the stranger. She ended with a soft-spoken invitation. 

“You must motor in beside me, Mr. Tyrrel. I can sew. 
I’ll mend that tear as soon as we reach the hotel.” 

His grin of amused assent brought Gerda’s straight eye¬ 
brows together. She spoke with the first trace of concern 
that she had shown for him. 

“How thoughtless of you, Pilar, asking him to hobble all 
round the car to you! He rides where he is.” 

On Welsh’s return, the loss of his seat to Tyrrel pleased 
him as little as it had the pouting Pilar. Gerda ignored 
both of them. Driving into town she plied her seat-mate 
with shrewd questions about cattle conditions in Colorado. 

“ Dry range? ” she replied to one of his statements. “ Your 
driest must be a bog compared with some down here. Why, 
right over across the mesa from the Kay Kay is one stretch 
of thirty miles without a cow on it.” 

“Sands, eh? Well, we have our own sand hills, Miss 
Keith — west side the Sangre de Christo. Regular Sahara 
desert.” 

“ So have we — south of us. But the range I’m talking 
about is best kind of feed — grama grass to your knee.” 

“ Sheep country? ” 

“Not even sheep. It’s dry — no creek or spring or tank 
in more than thirty miles.” 



26 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“ How about stocking it with a flock of camels ? ” suggested 
Tyrrel. “ Keep ’em six days out at work grass-cutting, and 
on the seventh day let ’em tank up.” 

Gerda shot a searching glance at his sad face and twinkling 
ruddy brown eyes. 

“ Hope you’re not that kind of camel yourself. The Kay 
Kay can use one or two more top riders. Shall I speak to 
Mr. Welsh?” 

Tyrrel’s eyes twinkled still brighter. 

“I’ll think it over, ma’am.” 

The car leaped under the jab of Gerda’s foot on the 
accelerator. She was not accustomed to men stopping to 
think over her rarely offered favors. She swerved into the 
ditch to whiz past a truckload of rainbow-clad Mexican girls. 
Tyrrel’s mouth rounded. 

“Whew! Acts like it’s tanked up on wood alcohol. Makes 
me nervous. Tell it wlioa , please.” 

The car slowed down to moderate speed. How could any¬ 
one stay angry with so good-humored a boy? 

In the traffic jam near the hotel Tyrrel jumped from the 
car and disappeared into a clothing store. A quarter-hour 
later he limped across the hotel lobby clad in new overalls, 
new shirt and carefully polished boots, and smelling of bar¬ 
ber’s soap. 

Keith met him at the door of the grillroom. They went 
in to the table where Welsh and the girls were already order¬ 
ing lunch. 

Even Gerda could find no fault with the guest’s conduct 
at table. He did not make noises over his soup or eat with 
his knife, choke his fork, or drink from his fingerbowl. In 
fact, his manners were almost as polished as her brother’s 
and decidedly more so than Welsh’s. Better still, his talk 
was easy and quiet. He did not push himself. 

Yet after all that, to think of his pulling out Pilar’s 



By a Head and Neck 


27 


silly bouquet of artificial flowers and allowing her to pin it 
on his new shirt! 

When the party made ready for the drive back to the 
rodeo grounds, Tyrrel found himself assigned to the seat 
beside the little lady of his colors. He responded to her 
coquetry with good-humored amusement until he met the dis¬ 
pleased look of Keith. After that he sobered and fixed a 
thoughtful gaze upon the back of Gerda’s severely erect head. 

Owing to the prominence that they had won, both he and 
Welsh had been listed last in the final and most important 
event of the rodeo — the riding of outlaws. Tyrrel excused 
himself from the car on the plea that he must make sure of 
the New Mexican contest rules. In spite of all her artless 
vamping, the little seUorita was a nice girl. Best for her 
that he should leave before her attentions to him too greatly 
angered her cousins. 

The horse corral was now very much alive with the con¬ 
test buckers — every savage brute among them an outlaw of 
established name and fame. Several had never been ridden 
to a finish. Tyrrel perched on the top rail and watched the 
bunch mill about, squealing and biting and kicking. The 
cadaverous old cowman who had served as judge in the free- 
for-all came to slouch against the corral beside him. 

“Howdy, son,” he drawled. “Picking out one to wear 
the silver saddle, huh? 99 

“Sure, dad. Want an option on that saddle? Leather 
suits me better. I’d rather have the cash than the dash.” 

The cowman’s shaggy brows drew down over his shrewd 
eyes. 

“ I’m Howbert — Lazy S Bar — up near the Hakreeyaw 
Mountains.” 

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Howbert.” 

“Oughta be. Chance to rope a couple thousand.” 

Tyrrel’s ruddy eyes warmed. 



28 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“ I agree to that in principle. When do we call a plenary 
session ? ” 

“Huh? Looky here, son, no joking. I mean biz. Seen 
you with the Kay Kay.” 

“Don’t shoot! It’s not my outfit yet.” 

“ Tell you, I mean biz. I want a deal on a thousand head 
white-faces — prime young feeders. Got to meet some notes 
pronto. The Kay Kay can dig up the cash. Get me a half- 
cent under market, and you get two dollars a head.” 

“I’ll think it over.” 

“’Twon’t keep.” 

“What’s your hotel? You’ll hear from me before break¬ 
fast, or not at all. Hold on. Why don’t you deal direct 
with the Kay Kay?” 

“ Reckon you ain’t been located hereabout long, son. Time 
of the Lincoln County war, happens the outfit I was rid¬ 
ing for lined up on t’other side from old One-Gun Welsh. 
Savvy?” 

“Well, I get a glimmer of the situation. You want me 
to serve as dove of peace at two bucks a coo.” 

“Dammit, no! I’m not dealing with Mat Welsh or any 
of his outfit. I’ve give you a option on them thousand white- 
faces. They’re your cattle. You sell ’em to the Kay Kay 
and take up your option. Fork over two bits to make this 
here deal a legal bargain.” 

Tyrrel grinned as he handed down the demanded twenty- 
five-cent piece. 

“ First time I ever was panhandled just this way.” 

“You sassy son-of-a-gun! Don’t disremember you got to 
out-ride Big Mat. You done Miss Keith a good turn with 
that nervy crowding of her locoed hoss. That swung Don 
Keith your way. He’s white. But you got to beat Mat, 
else he won’t deal. He’ll ride you.” 

“Lot of luck in a bucking contest, Mr. Howbert — all 




By a Head and Neck 


29 


kinds.” 

“ That’s no lie. And they ain’t no good luck in this here 
bunch of bad actors. It’s a case of all worse. But the 
worstest are Shimmy, Perfect Lady and Still Hell. Shimmy 
jumps sideways two ways at once. Perfect Lady, she flip- 
flops and bites a hunk out of you. If you draw Still Hell, 
you got just one single chance. Don’t wake him up. Sit 
still your ownself and hold your breath till the judges draw 
you another hoss. I want you should postpone your fun’ral 
long enough to make that deal. Promise.” 

“ I’ll think about it. Here come the fireworks,” 



CHAPTER IV 


STILL HELL 

O NE of the outlaws had been roped and dragged from 
the corral. Hard as he fought, expert hands soon had 
him saddled and bridled. The first contestant swung into 
the saddle. 

The horse began to buck rather mildly for an outlaw. The 
rider sat with his hands well raised, legs tightly clamped 
against the sides of his horse, and feet straight down in the 
stirrups. 

“ Thought he was supposed to be a rider,” said Tyrrel. 
“What’s he waiting for? He’s disqualified already. Not 
one single solitary scratch in five jumps.” 

“Hell? ” queried Howbert. “ What makes you think he’s 
got to scratch him?” 

“Regular rules — three scratches in the first five jumps. 
Contest rules.” 

“Not down here, son. All you’re called on for is stick 
and not pull leather. It’s up to your hoss to buck. If he 
won’t, the judges draw you another. That’s how mebbe 
you’ll live to brag you got on Still Hell and got off again — 
without his help.” 

Tyrrel looked down at his spurs. 

On the whole, the contest proved rather more exciting than 
any of recent years. A few of the outlaws failed to buck; 
a few others bolted. The greater number fought hard. Of 
these less than half were ridden to a finish. 

Perfect Lady broke a leg in flip-flopping and had to be 
shot. Still Hell failed to erupt. Two riders drew him. Each 
in turn mounted with utmost gentleness and sat very quiet 

30 


Still Hell 


31 


until the rules permitted them to leap clear of that smoulder¬ 
ing volcano. 

Little Shimmy spilled two riders with greater ease than 
any other horse. 

44 Told you so,” said Howbert. 44 Buckaroo who rides that 
devil has got the silver saddle good as cinched. Nobody dast 
tackle Still Hell no more. He’s got a record of two busters 
killed and four more what’ve never rode again.” 

Tyrrel’s face lengthened. 

44 It’ll be just my luck to draw him.” 

44 If so be, son, you seen how them wise boys done. You 
know what to do.” 

44 Yes,” agreed Tyrrel. 44 1 know what I’ll do.” 

Of the remaining contestants, a few rode their horses to 
a finish. The others landed in the dust. So far, three men 
had made a very good showing. To shade them would require 
the riding of an exceptionally hard bucker. 

The excitement of the great crowd of spectators screwed 
up to the highest pitch when Welsh’s name was called. What 
would the son of old One-Gun do to honor his dad? He 
spoke to the judges. They remonstrated. He stood pat. 
They agreed. 

The announcer caught a deep breath and blared through 
his megaphone: 

44 Mr. Welsh of the Kay Kay has asked the privilege of 
trying to ride Shimmy.” 

Wild yells of approval greeted the announcement. Big 
Mat had proved he did not lack grit. He was the son of his 
dad, and no mistake. He might get spilled, but he sure was 
no fourflusher. 

He shot a hard look at Tyrrel, still perched on the corral 
rail, and tautened the cinch of his saddle on Shimmy with a 
heave that sank the broad hair band into the flesh. 

“By—” swore Howbert. 44 ’Nother yank, and he’ll 



32 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


cave in the little nag’s ribs. Makes the bronc look like he’s 
got on old-style corsets. That’s a Welsh’s idee of fair play. 
Nemmind. Shimmy mebbe’ll spill him yet.” 

Welsh flung himself upon the outlaw like a leaping grizzly. 
His thick legs clamped fast under the knee-brace bulges 
of the broncho-buster saddle. The first would-be rider of 
Shimmy had spilled before his right foot found its stirrup. 
The second had been pitched off by the third twisting side- 
jump. But Welsh’s thighs and knees crushed against the 
sides of the small horse with the power of a steel vise. 

Shimmy seemed fairly to flash, so swift did he make his 
twisting sideward leaps. Yet every jump found Welsh still 
fast in the saddle. He did not even bend. His thick body 
remained almost rigid. It was as if he and his saddle and 
the whirling outlaw had grown fast together. 

Squealing with rage, Shimmy went into a frenzy. He 
spun like a top. Welsh still sat him, firm as a rock; and, 
like a rock, at every jump he jolted the horse with all his 
weight. The cruel tightness of the cinch was crushing the 
little outlaw’s fiery heart. 

He quit with a suddenness that hushed the mob to gasps 
of surprise. 

“Busted!” growled Howbert. “Busted, by ginger!” 

“Like an A-l quarter-horse,” said Tyrrel. “Good for a 
sprint, but couldn’t keep going for distance. Mr. Welsh 
sized him up. Have to hand it to him, just the same. He 
can ride. Well, they’re waiting to find out what to say about 
me next. Let’s hope they don’t say it with flowers.” 

Pensive-eyed, Tyrrel sauntered towards the judges. Welsh 
stood beside the conquered Shimmy, breathing deeply, his 
face a dark brick red. Otherwise he showed no effects from 
the jerks and jolts of Shimmy’s whirlwind bucking. 

“Best yet, Mr. Welsh,” Tyrrel congratulated him. “You 
sure can fork a horse.” 



Still Hell 


33 


Welsh frowned at the subdued animal. 

“ I rode him. Only trouble, he didn’t last enough. Tex 
Leary’s horse kept going a good two minutes longer — next 
good bucker to Shimmy, at that.” 

“ Next good, Mr. Welsh, but not a close second. Shimmy’s 
fireworks are in a class by themselves — short but sweet.” 

“Well, you’ll have to do some riding to cut Tex out of 
second money.” 

Tyrrel’s look saddened. 

“ I’m not expecting second money.” 

The big man looked his contempt. 

“Quitter, are you?” 

“ Not exactly. It’s only that I’m not after second money.” 

Without waiting for another gibe, Tyrrel turned to the 
judges. 

“ Gentlemen, I have been talking with that old-timer yonder. 
He told what would give me something to brag about. If you 
don’t mind, before you draw a horse for me, I’d like to try 
sliding onto Still Hell.” 

“Whoa, buddy,” advised the youngest judge. “Old How 
must have it in for you. Still Hell is set on a hair trigger. 
Third time may prove the charm. Better back up.” 

Everybody around laughed. 

“ Colorow wants to look down the muzzle and see if it’s 
loaded,” jeered Welsh. “Doesn’t guess it’ll go off — and 
him too.” 

“That’s the gamble —will it?” mildly questioned Tyrrel. 
“ Think of the fun of twiggling the trigger, and wondering 
what will happen if she does rip loose!” 

“If that’s your bet, cowboy, we’ll deal you the card you 
call for,” the young judge spoke for his fellows. 

Up went the megaphone of the announcer. 

“Attention, ladees and gents — and buckaroos! Tyrrel 
of Colorado wants to gamble he can gambol on Still Hell.” 



34 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


The punning announcement was greeted with mingled cheers 
and jeers and laughter. Tyrrel quietly submitted his broncho- 
buster saddle for inspection. The spread of the knee-bulges 
measured a full half inch under the limit set by the contest 
rules. He shook his head when the judges offered him a 
full-width saddle. 

“No, thanks, gentlemen. Too much spread makes it hard 
to jerk your legs down, if they happen to get tossed up 
in front.” 

“ Don’t worry. Case that happens, you’ll come down ahead 
of them,” said Welsh. 

“ I’ll think about it,” replied Tyrrel almost tearfully. 
'“ Good thing I lack your weight. I usually fall light.” 

As he went over to watch his saddle put on Still Hell, the 
old cowman Howbert waddled around in front of Welsh. He 
drew a tight wad of bank notes from a pocket of his leather 
Test. 

“ Say, young man, here’s a roll I picked up last night on 
a poker table. It says the boy is going to ride his hoss.” 

“ Ride Still Hell! ” The derision in Welsh’s blue eyes 
hardened into a stare of perplexed scrutiny. “Where’ve I 
seen you before P ” 

“Mebbe you’ve got me mixed with some’un else, sonny. 
Nemmind. You don’t have to be acquainted to put up a 
bet. Draw a check to yourself and endorse it. I won’t 
have no trouble cashing the paper. Charlie here’ll hold the 
stakes. Loan him your checkbook, Charlie.” 

“Needless trouble to write a check,” said Welsh. “It 
would be coming back to me anyway.” 

“ ’Scuse me, mister. I didn’t know you was a fourflusher,” 
apologized Howbert. 

Welsh’s hand dropped to his hip and jerked away from 
the empty pistol holster. Howbert’s half toothless mouth 
twisted in a sardonic smile. 



Still Hell 


35 


“ Disremembered you’d unpacked your gun for your riding, 
hell? I could ’a’ plugged you for making that move. Self- 
defense. Any gentleman here got nerve to cover my four- 
sixty-five? It says the boy rides Still Hell.” 

A chorus of eager voices met the offer. But Welsh blared 
down all others. 

“Hold on. That’s my bet — and I’ll raise it a thousand.” 

“ Sorry,” grunted the old cowman, “ dam’ sorry! Four- 
sixty-five’s the size of my roll. Cover it, or back up.” 

As Welsh scribbled his name on the check, Tyrrel made 
ready to swing up on the motionless Still Hell. The jeering 
spectators looked to see him slide into the saddle, in gingerly 
imitation of his two predecessors. 

He mounted like a flash. The next instant his spurs raked 
the sides of Still Hell from flank to neck. With a squeal of 
astonished fury, the outlaw exploded into action. His first 
jump equalled Shimmy’s worst. 

Before the dumbfounded crowd could catch its breath to 
yell its amazement, Still Hell had made five jumps, and three 
times out of the five, Tyrrel’s spurs had jabbed him either 
in flanks or shoulders. After that Tyrrel did no more scratch¬ 
ing or jabbing. He had complied jvith the Northern contest 
rules. All that remained to do was to see if he could stick 
out the terrific bucking. 

Still Hell was every one of the most vicious among the 
outlaws, packed inside a single skin. He was an equine 
maniac, a fiend in horseflesh. He did not buck in any one 
style or succession of styles. His method was a jumbled 
tornado of pitching, stiff-legged jumping, rearing, side-jump¬ 
ing, swirling, sun-fishing. He had all the quickness of a cat, 
the strength of a bear, the fury of a tiger. 

His mad efforts to hurl his rider out of the saddle — the 
wild jolts and gyrations and pitches — whipped Tyrrel’s long 
body about from front to rear, from side to side, like a storm- 



36 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


lashed willow. His head jerked on his hunched shoulders as if 
about to snap off. In both neck and body, he lacked the iron 
rigidity of Welsh’s thickset frame. Nor did he possess the 
advantage of Welsh’s weight. 

Yet more—Shimmy was a small horse; Still Hell was 
larger and stronger, more versatile, and no less quick. The 
wonder was that he failed to fling his rider within the first 
half minute. Only in their supreme moments had the worst 
of the other horses equalled his frightfulness. 

But somehow Tyrrel continued to stick on. Time after 
time, in rapid succession, he hurled over as if to a certain 
fall, only to whip back again the other way. 

In the Keiths’ car, Pilar had cowered down to hide her 
white face against her guardian’s shoulder. The bald round 
of Keith’s uncovered head glistened with beads of sweat. 

Gerda had swung out and up on the hood. Her gray- 
green eyes were aflame with delight. Her full-lunged cry 
carried bell-like above the wild yelling of the mob- 

“Ride him! Ride him, cowboy! R-r-ride him!” 

Old Howbert alone of all the thousands of onlookers, did 
not cry out or yell. 

“Lord!” he grunted. “Boy like that — busted neck or 
a rupture — dirty shame!” 

“Busted nothing!” shouted Welsh. “You going blind? 
He’s riding him — dammit — he’s riding him! ” 

It was the truth; and it was the rider of Shimmy who had 
been first to perceive the truth. Tyrrel was out-guessing 
Still Hell. Every whip-over of his body was to meet and 
balance against a like cat twist or jump of the furious out¬ 
law. Above the waist he might have been made of whale¬ 
bone ; below he was like cast steel. And whatever the violent 
whirl or plunge of the squealing demon beneath him, his 
hands held the reins high, clear of neck and saddle. He 
never once “pulled leather.” 





Still Hell 


37 


To the relief of the old cowman, Still Hell at last began 
to slow down. This did not altogether surprise Howbert. 
He had never before known a horse to keep up such terrific 
bucking for so long a time. If only the boy could stick on 
a little longer! 

After all, Still Hell was made only of flesh and bone. 
Even such devilishness as his — such maniacal fury — could 
no longer sustain him at the full pitch of frantic action. The 
wonder was that he had been able to hold so long to such 
frenzied violence. 

And Tyrrel continued to stick on. With the same spring¬ 
like alertness, he met the last desperate flurries of the tiring 
outlaw. But he took care not to scratch him into another 
eruption. 

The slowing of the action permitted nearby spectators a 
view of the rider’s face, between the jerks and whirls. It was 
gray-white. His eyes seemed to have sunk back into their 
sockets. He began to wobble a little in the saddle. But Still 
Hell had almost run down. Tyrrel’s slackening jaw tightened 
in a last rally of stubborn grit. 

Still Hell did not quit, as had Shimmy. When at last he 
came to a stop, it was only to recover breath and strength 
for another furious outburst. Tyrrel crouched warily on the 
suddenly lax demon. He waited. Still Hell stood sagged in a 
quivering, leg-spread, head-drooped slump, wheezing for 
breath. 



CHAPTER V 


BITES AND BARGAINS 

O NE of the judges raised his hand in a beckoning gesture. 

Tyrrel made no attempt to hide his relief. He rolled 
out of his saddle, staggered clear of the vicious outlaw, 
swayed and tottered. Before he could fall, old Howbert had 
a corded arm about his shoulders and a pint flask under his 
nose. 

“Hi! you young son of a b—” he yipped his sardonic 
glee. “ Have a swig of snake med’cine.” 

Tyrrel wiped the bloody foam off his gray lips and took 
a single swallow from the flask. His sunken eyes brightened. 
He smiled and straightened up. 

Gerda Keith was sprinting across the hoof-torn sod. She 
swung the car’s water-bag up before him, her eyes glistening 
like dew-wet emeralds. 

“ Don’t tell me you’re hurt, Dick! ” she accused. 

He drank deep and drew back to clutch his in-shrunken 
chest. 

“I’m ’fraid — he’s — busted something, Miss Keith. Look 
.... here! ” 

Out came one of her brother’s choice cigars, badly crushed. 
Gerda joined in the loud “Haw! haw! ” of the old cowman. 
Their mirth goaded Welsh beyond endurance. He swung 
forward, red as a beet, and flung out his clenched fist at the 
judges. 

“ This horse is not ridden to a finish,” he charged. “ He’s 
not busted.” 

“Back up,” advised Howbert, none too gently. “He’s 
been rode to a stand. That’s all’s called for. You seen the 

38 


Bites and Bargains 


39 


judge sign the boy to dismount.” 

“ He was ready to quit — all in. Look at him now! I’ll 
give him fifty dollars to get on again — a hundred if he lasts 
three jumps!” 

“Not for a thousand!” said Tyrrel. “I*m willing to try 
anything once. How about yourself ? ” 

“ That’s talking! ” put in Howbert. “ I bet you my roll 
and your check, you can’t give Still Hell two hours’ rest, and 
ride him your ownself.” 

The dare was a bitter dose to swallow. But Welsh had 
seen what the outlaw could do. He hesitated. 

“Own up, Mat,” said Gerda. “Be a sport. You know 
Tyrrel has won the saddle, fair and square.” 

Again Welsh hesitated. The girl’s eyes widened with sur¬ 
prise. Her head went up. Welsh held out a grudging hand 
to the victor. 

“ It’s your saddle, Tyrrel. I wouldn’t get on that devil 
for any money.” 

“ Give him a shoulder to the car,” ordered Gerda. “ He’s 
dining with us.” 

Howbert stepped clear. Tyrrel gave him a nod, and 
accepted Welsh’s reluctant aid because Gerda gave him her 
own shoulder on the other side. When he started to walk, 
his over-strained thigh muscles could not control his legs. 
He wobbled like a new-born calf. 

By now he was in the thick of a surging mob of admirers. 
They fell back slowly before Welsh’s frown, but opened free 
passage in response to Gerda’s orders. 

As they came to the car, Pilar eagerly moved over to make 
room at her side for Tyrrel. 

“Voder de Dios! ” she exulted. “ You won, mio campeador! 
You bring back my colors, covered with glory!” 

“And dust,” added Gerda. “ What he needs most is a boil¬ 
ing hot bath.” 



40 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


With a quick straining of her supple strength, she boosted 
Tyrrel up into the front seat. She was at the wheel before 
the chagrined Welsh could crowd his bulk into the space 
made clear by Pilar. Behind their shell-rimmed spectacles 
Keith’s gray eyes first twinkled with amusement, then clouded. 

The ride into town gave Tyrrel time to make sure he had 
not been internally injured. It also gave him back strength 
enough to walk into the hotel unaided. 

Even had he not been accompanied by Welsh and the 
Keiths, everything about the hotel would have been his for 
the asking. He was top rider, crack roper and head broncho 
buster of the rodeo — winner of three out of four of the 
main events. 

He dodged several urgently offered flasks, bucked through 
a squad of reporters, and plunged into a hot bath. He was 
willing to follow the advice of Gerda Keith. She might not 
be one of the angelic tender-eyed kind, like her little senorita 
cousin; but she had a deal of commonsense .... and 
sand. 

As for looks, she could give any girl he had ever known, 
hearts and spades, and take every trick. Only trouble, that 
hardness. A girl had a right to hard muscles, same as a 
man. It proved her perfect fitness for outdoor life. But 
that look was different. It meant a spirit just as hard as 
her muscles. 

Yet there beside Still Hell, when she came running with 
the water — had he been too sick and giddy to see clearly — 
or had he not caught the glisten of tears in those wonderful 
gray-green eyes? 

Lax from the hot soak but eased of all aches, he attempted 
to take a siesta in the choice room proudly offered for his 
use by a trio of eastern tourists. The squad of reporters 
forced their way in and bombarded him with queries about 
his past life and achievements. When he reached his limit 




Bites and Bargains 


41 


on dodging his face saddened. 

“ It’s no use, boys. I’ll have to make a clean breast of it, 
even if it costs me all the plaudits of the admiring multitude. 
I own up. I’ve run away from a wife and thirteen small chil¬ 
dren. Had to take to contest riding just to get a little rest 
and quiet.” 

The reporters withdrew, routed but laughing. 

Ravenous hunger drove him out of his retirement, on the 
stroke of the hour for the opening of the dining-room. In 
the lobby a crowd was swarming around his silver-mounted 
prize saddle. At sight of him they shouted and charged. 
Some of the men had been celebrating with bootleg. He was 
in real danger of being ridden on their shoulders. Gerda led 
Welsh to his rescue. 

Safe in the dining-room, at the Kay Kay table, he recovered 
Breath enough for speech. 

“Talk — about fame! Bellboy brought me — pitcher ice- 
water— ’thout my ringing. Said, ‘Nossur, ’nuff honor serv¬ 
ing you. bu’want no tip a-tall, sir.’ ” 

“Impossible!” cried Gerda. “Why, that’s the very tip¬ 
top of fame!” 

Pilar was eying him with a reproachful look. 

“ Is it — it is true, Mr. Tyrrel, what those newspaper men 
were laughing over? They said you deserted your wife 
and — and-” 

“Well, no, Miss Chavez — not exactly. That was rather 
an exaggeration. There are not thirteen. You see, my first 
wife-” 

“Oh, then you are married?” 

“Uh — well, not exactly.” Tyrrel’s side glance caught the 
sharp change in Gerda’s look. “ Fact is, I haven’t yet roped 
her — my first wife, I mean. But I’ve made up my mind. 
I’m going to be married — some day.” 

Gerda joined in Pilar’s quick laugh. But neither her 





42 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


brother nor Welsh seemed to find the reply amusing. They 
started to discuss range conditions, the packers, and the 
market for beef on the hoof. Tyrrel listened to their talk 
with one alert ear. The other took in the pretty chatter of 
Pilar and Gerda’s occasional cool interruptions. 

By the time coffee was served he was as full of information 
as of food. 

“ Excuse the change of subject, Miss Keith,” he remarked. 
“I hear Mr. Welsh speaking of feeders. Happens I have 
an option on a bunch.” 

Welsh thought he saw a chance to score. 

“Mighty good of you, Tyrrel, to favor us — only we’re 
not picking up little bunches of scrubs. Too many small-bore 
rustlers round here dealing in half-carload lots.” 

“Hope you don’t class me with them,” protested Tyrrel. 
“ I never stop at half-carloads — when I can get away with 
a herd. What d’you say to a thousand prime young white- 
faces? ” 

“ Poor joke, that.” 

“Think so? Make an offer, and call me for a show-down.” 

Gerda had become all keen attention. 

“He’s not bluffing, Mat.” 

“What if he isn’t?” interposed her brother. “There can 
be no question of any offer by us. You know we are not 
in shape to buy.” 

“Not with seventy thousand lying idle?” 

“Idle? You mean, safe in savings bank.” 

The girl smiled her scorn. 

“Four per cent and safe! When we can gamble on the 
chance of big prices in next season’s market! ” 

“ I’m offering a bargain, Mr. Keith,” said Tyrrel. “ Would 
a quarter cent under the present market interest you ? ” 

“We never pay within a cent of market for rustled stock,” 
thrust Welsh. 



Bites and Bargains 


43 


Tyrrel smiled and waited for the answer of Keith. It 
came in a tone of good-natured finality. 

“ The Kay Kay range is stocked. If we take on a thousand 
feeders, we’ll run short of grass.” 

“Not if the rains come a little early,” differed Gerda. 
“ Safety first — that’s always your whine, Donnie! And dad 
ranged his first herd in Apache country! Come on. Take 
a chance.” 

Her brother’s smile did not change. She might as well 
have struck a rubber post. Tyrrel turned his seemingly in¬ 
different glance from the brother and sister to the broad, full 
face of Welsh. Which of the three dominated the partner¬ 
ship? 

Would Big Mat side with the girl to win her favor, or 
would his desire to shut the offerer out of a deal cause him 
to back her brother? Would it be better to stand pat on 
the quarter-cent discount, or to bid down a point or two? 

Old Howbert had said he would take a full half cent under 
the market. But he had proved himself white. No doubt 
he could use that other quarter cent. Why not make a bluff? 

“ It’s a real bargain, Mr. Keith. You know it is. Market’s 
low, anyway. Quarter cent under is a big bargain.” 

“ True enough,” agreed the genial baldheaded senior part¬ 
ner of the Kay Kay, who had never been known to come out 
second best in a cattle deal. “True enough, Mr. Tyrrel. 
From a money standpoint it is an indisputable bargain. But 
our range is already overstocked.” 

“Yes, and how about delivery?” demanded Welsh. “Rail 
rates eat profits. Where’ve you got your mavericks hid? 
Way up in Colorado?” 

“Just at present they’re up my sleeve, Mr. Welsh. May 
I ask you kindty to excuse my keeping them there, if the 
Kay Kay does not care to talk business?” 

“ But we do, Dick! ” cried Gerda, her cheeks aglow with 



44 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


rich color. “ That is, I do, and if Mat won’t back me against 
Donnie, I’ll sell out and go it alone.” 

“ Gerda! ” remonstrated her brother. 

She ignored him to look Tyrrel up and down with a busi¬ 
ness-like scrutiny. 

“Want a tryout as foreman?” 

“I’ll think it over. How about the pay?” 

“ Strikes me, that’s all you do think about,” said Welsh. 
“Always got your eye out for the money — one of these on- 
the-make sharps.” 

“I admit you’re not one of them, Mr. Welsh. You’re 
voting with Mr. Keith to turn down my quarter-cent-under 
offer. I don’t mind being classed with Miss Keith.” 

The irony bit deep. 

“Who says how I’m voting? It’s a good enough gamble. 
What do you stand to get out of the deal ? ” 

“How much do you suppose, at such a discount?” 

“ That’s enough,” said Gerda. “ If the steers are as rep¬ 
resented, and F. O. B. within reasonable trailing distance of 
Socorro, I’ll take them.” 

“They’re up towards the Jacarilla Mountains — and 
they’re your steers, Miss Keith, subject to your approval 
on inspection. When will you want them bunched for you? ” 

“Hold on,” said Welsh. “I’m going to look them over 
myself. This is a Kay Kay deal.” 

Keith’s genial smile gave place to a look of regret. 

“No doubt it is a miracle that the three of us have man¬ 
aged to pull together all these months. It was too good to 
last. This deal is against my judgment. I will stay in the 
partnership until we have handled and sold these feeders and 
I have paid my third of the loss.” 

Gerda’s face flamed scarlet. 

“If that’s the way you feel about it, Don Keith, you’ll 
keep the brand and stay hitched to Mat. I cut loose right 



Bites and Bargains 


45 


here and now. I’m not going to be ridden by any safety-first 
milksop! ” 

“ Easy, easy, Miss Gerda,” urged Welsh. “ I know you’ll 
not go it alone and shut me out of my chance at the profits. 
This offer was made to the Kay Kay, and the Kay Kay has 
accepted it.” 

“ Oh, if you’re set on siding me against Safety Savings! ” 
The girl tossed a bank note to Tyrrel. “That’s Kay Kay 
money. It takes your feeders, subject to approval.” 

“Cash on delivery?” 

“As good as cash — the check of the Kay Kay, drawn by 
the senior partner.” 

The girl looked challengingly at her brother. He signed 
a blank check, handed it to Welsh, and rose from the table. 

“ It’s another case of Lobo,” he said. “ That temper of 
yours, Gerda — you’re riding for a fall. As for Mat siding 
you against me ... . but I’ll not say it. You’re the one 
responsible. This deal is in your hands. I’ll have nothing 
to do with it. The car cannot be trailed over cactus country. 
I shall drive back the way we came.” 

“With me?” murmured Pilar. “That long drive — just 
us two?” 

“ Hardly, nina. People might not realize you are still a 
school girl. You must stay with Gerda.” 

His sister’s lip curled. 

“I can’t be bothered with female baggage. Pick up a 
chaperon who wants a lift to Socorro. I’m going to trail 
across with the herd.” 

“Then I am too!” cried Pilar, her black eyes hot with 
resentment. “Needn’t look so uppish, Gerda. You know 
I can ride-” 

“Across the Chupadera Mesa — three days from water to 
water?” remonstrated Keith. “Why, my dear child-” 

“ Santisima! If you call me that again, I’ll scream! You 





46 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


know padre's madre married younger than I am now. Go 
on, Gerda. Why don’t you say it? ‘Just like a greaser!’ 
Voder de Dios! I’ll show you a greaser can ride!” 

“Hush, chiquita soothed Keith. “People are staring. 
Be a nice good little girl. I’ll get you a chaperon-” 

She jerked clear af the hand he had placed on her arm. 

“I’m not cliiquita to you! Chaperon — chaperon? Safety 
first, last, and all the time! You .... all right, then. 
It’s just as improper for Gerda, too. I shall chaperon her! ” 

Keith bowed gravely and left the table, mopping his bald 
head. His sister turned the unflinching gaze of her beautiful 
eyes from him to the defiant young girl. 

“It’s your choice, Pilar. Don’t forget that when we hit 
into the rough. And you’ll behave. Sdbef If I catch you 
making eyes at the men when they ought to be on duty, I’ll 
spank you.” 

Pilar shrank as if struck in the face. She cast a piteous 
glance after Keith. But he did not look back. She caught 
Tyrrel’s sympathetic eye, and smiled with sugary sweetness. 

“At least I’ll have my campeador for a time. He’s not 
your man, Gerda dulcisima. He still wears my colors.” 




CHAPTER VI 


IN THE SADDLE 

N EED to arrange for the delivery of the steers gave 
Tyrrel excuse to break away from the strained situa¬ 
tion. It hurt him to see and hear two such lovely girls 
exchange unpleasantries. 

He found the owner of the Lazy S Bar already settled 
for a quiet evening with three old friends and a poker deck. 
The one term of the deal that he did not mention to Howbert 
was the quarter cent that he had saved. 

“M,” grunted the old man. “Kind of thought the 
price’d fetch ’em. Only thing, it’s a sour swallow, Big Mat 
getting a slice of the cake. Well, Don Keith and Miss 
Gerdy’re all right — and I need the money. How ’bout 
yours, son? Times’ve changed. Can’t cash my check for 
that measly little two thousand ’fore I clean up my bank 
loans. Mebbe, though, by breakfast I’ll have the cash.” 

He gazed speculatively at the card table. 

“Nothing due me now, sir,” replied Tyrrel. “Those feed¬ 
ers are yet to be accepted.” 

“Don’t you worry any ’bout that, son. They’re prime 
stock. What’s more, Miss Gerdy ain’t a quitter. She’ll 
hang on even if Mat backs out when he knows I’m behind 
the deal. On t’other hand, mebbe he’ll snap it up, seeing 
as how it’s hitting me under the market.” 

“When shall I say we’ll have the steers ready for inspec¬ 
tion ? ” 

“ Soon’s your buyers care to jog up to the Lazy S Bar. 
Told Billy Bull, my foreman, to keep ’em bunched. I’ll rattle 
my tin can up-creek first thing tomorrow.” 

47 


48 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


As the cowman spoke, he hospitably followed Tyrrel out 
into the empty hotel hall. 

“You wait and come along with your buyers, son. Was 
young once my ownself. Them’re mighty comely gals.” 

“And both of them ladies,” Tyrrel chimed in with convic¬ 
tion. “As for me, I’m not even a nester. Bird that flies high 
trying to feather his nest, is apt to be classed as a buzzard. 
If you had an ambulance, I’d admire your company. Reason 
I’ll stay and ride Ante is that he jogs easier than a flivver.” 

Howbert spread his bow legs and gnawed at a plug of 
chewing tobacco. 

“Dunno which you’re set on, son. Reckon you got the 
little senorita gentled a’ready. Might do worse. Old Ken¬ 
neth Keith — pa of Apache Keith — went and had a appelec- 
tic stroke when his second gal run off with Chavez. All the 
same, Miguel was mighty white for a sheepman. Come of 
pedigreed Spanish stock. ’Sides, they’s no sheep to bother 
you now. Don cashed in on ’em at top war prices.” 

“Mighty interesting, Mr. Howbert. But I’m not-” 

“Rather have action, huh? Well, I reckon you’ll find that 
there Still Hell hoss ain’t got nothing on Miss Gerdy — if 
it comes down to busting. Mebbe you might gentle her. 
Women sure are queer critters.” 

Tyrrel drew out one of Keith’s cigars, eyed the band, and 
replaced the expensive “ smoke ” in his pocket. 

“ Too rich for a poor lone puncher. As for busting, I’ve 
had enough for a while.” 

“ I might take on another top rider.” The cowman’s tone 
was flat, but his eyes glinted. 

“Thanks. I’ll think about it, Mr. Howbert. We’ll come 
as soon as Miss Keith is ready.” 

Back in the big new tourist hotel patronized by the Kay 
Kay, Tyrrel found a roystering mob of rodeo celebrants. 
They forcibly boosted him up into his silver-mounted, hand- 




In the Saddle 


49 


carved saddle, and clamored for a speech. 

Oratory was the last thing he would have dreamed of 
attempting. But his appeal to be let off met with an uproar 
of insistence. He would have felt far more comfortable if 
the gorgeous saddle under him had been on the back of any 
bucking outlaw—Still Hell excepted. The thought gave him 
an inspiration. Why not cash in on the enthusiasm of his 
riotous persecutors? 

He jumped upright on the saddle. The wave of his long 
arm won a sudden hush of expectancy. He struck a pose. 

“Friends, Romans—’scuse me! Friends, roamers, and 
fellow buckaroos, I came not here to talk. I came to-” 

“Ride, cowboy! r-r-r-ride! ” yelled a moonshine-glamored 
tourist. 

“Guilty!” confessed Tyrrel when the howl of approval 
quieted. “Anyhow, I didn’t come here to dude-wrangle. 
Fact is, I’m like that boy that stood on the burning deck — or 
was it the bridge? I’m no gob. All I know is, I’d like to 
play a game of auction bridge.” 

“Why not pokah?” inquired a Kentuckian. 

“Because there’s no bluff in this game. Gentlemen, who 
wants a memento of the wild and woolly West? I own two 
saddles and one horse. Can’t very well ride him with an 
upper and lower, like a bunkhouse or a Pullman. Yet more, 
’twould grieve my tender heart to see so much elegantly 
chased silver tarnished by the inclemencies of the weather — 
not to mention that metal makes a cold seat in winter. Gentle¬ 
men, this magnificent silver saddle, first prize of the rodeo, 
is on the auction block. What do I hear bid?” 

The motion-picture cowboy was first to recover from the 
general astonishment. He perceived a rare opportunity for 
himself. The actual rodeo saddle, along with a photoplay 
showing him as hero of a rodeo, would double his popularity 
as a star. In a tone of careless generosity, he bid seventy- 





50 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


five dollars. A real puncher snorted and raised him to a 
hundred. The Kentucky tourist bid twenty-five more. 

The picture star had caught his breath. The advertising 
value of the contest prize was worth far more to him than 
the saddle had cost. He began to bid up by driblets. The 
puncher soon reached his limit. Much to the surprise of 
Tyrrel, his place was taken by Welsh. The young cattleman 
raised the cautious bids of the tourist and the picture star 
by twenty-dollar jumps. 

At two hundred and fifty dollars the Kentuckian dropped 
out. Welsh rapidly bid up to three hundred, and stopped. 
The movie cowboy offered two dollars more. This met with 
laughter and jeers, but no one raised him, persistently as 
Tyrrel called for other bids. 

His attempt to loosen up the crowd with a funny story 
failed. Behind his smile he boiled with anger. The price 
offered was beyond what he had hoped for. But how could 
he bring himself to let his hard-won prize of honor go to that 
faker, that sham cowboy? If only he had seized upon Welsh’s 
last bid! Whatever had been Big Mat’s purpose in bidding, 
he was a real cattleman. 

Vainly Tyrrel pirouetted around on the beautiful saddle, 
ready to snap at the slightest raise that would give him 
excuse to shut out the picture star. The hand-carved, silver- 
mounted saddle was a work of art. More than one of the 
tourists had paid thousands for smeared old canvases of 
doubtful origin. But they were not buying saddles. Welsh 
held to a tight-jawed silence. Tyrrel could kill no more time. 

“One last call,” he warned. “Three hundred and 
two offered. Going at three hundred and two. Going — 
going-” 

“Four hundred!” pealed a bell-like voice from the stair¬ 
way. 

Tyrrel wrenched himself about so suddenly that he almost 






In the Saddle 


51 


toppled from his perch. Gerda Keith stood on the first land¬ 
ing? gazing over the heads of the people below with undis¬ 
guised scorn. Though uncertain whether her disdain was for 
himself or for the crowd, Tyrrel managed to choke down 
his astonishment. He shouted his relief: 

“ Four hundred bid! Sold to-” 

“ Four hundred and two! ” cried the picture cowboy. 

“Five hundred!” rang out Gerda’s voice, without an in¬ 
stant’s hesitancy. 

Tyrrel stared, too astonished to catch at the preposterous 
bid. The actor frowned with anger, but his lips tightened. 
Even at a thousand the saddle would be a bargain for him. 
He must show this derisive bidder that he was in real earnest. 
His voice took on a note of harsh challenge- 

“ Five, twenty-five! ” 

“ Five, ninety-eight,” mocked the girl. 

The crowd had caught its breath. It burst into a hilarious 
roar. The first lull found the actor spluttering with rage. 
He had lost his temper. Tyrrel threw up his hands for 
silence. 

“ Gentlemen, I told you I wanted to play a game of auction. 
The game is now closed. You’ve had your laugh. The joke 
has gone far enough.” 

u But the saddle! ” shouted the movie star. “ I bid six 
hundred! ” 

“Whoa, sonny. Didn’t you hear me? No more auction 
game. This saddle isn’t for sale at any price.” 

Gerda Keith’s face flamed as crimson as the actor’s. She 
flashed a furious glance at Tyrrel and withdrew up the stair¬ 
way like an offended queen. Her anger perplexed him no 
less than her whim to bid so extravagantly for the saddle. 
As old Howbert had said, women certainly were queer crea¬ 
tures. 

He dropped to the floor, swung the ornate saddle over his 





52 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


shoulder, and plowed his way through the milling crowd, out 
into the night-shadowed street. 

Yet dawn found him at the livery stable where the Kay 
Kay had placed their horses. No matter how greatly the 
girl had been angered at him, he could not believe she would 
break her word. 

From the adjoining garage rolled a light truck with hard- 
rubber tires and the equipment of a chuck-wagon — cook’s 
camp-kit and food box and two big water tanks. Before 
the livery, two Kay Kay horse wranglers and four newly 
hired hard-bitten punchers were examining a remuda or cavvy 
(cavaya — caballo — caballada) of nearly forty bronchos. 

One of the new punchers was the boar-faced drunkard who 
had been ripped by his steer in the bulldogging. Lame little 
Jake, the older wrangler, named him to Tyrrel as Butch, a 
boyhood friend of Welsh’s. Two of the others claimed the 
same distinction — Slim, a limp beanpole with low forehead 
and rattlesnake eyes, and Redeye, the wolfish one-eyed fellow 
who had sneered at Tyrrel for taking part in the sack race. 

When Gerda came from the hotel with Welsh and Pilar, her 
first glance fixed upon Tyrrel in his old saddle on the ugly 
Ante. He swung off, hat in hand. Without so much as a 
frigid nod, she drew her cousin past him to where Jake waited 
with the horses of the party. 

Lobo, nervous as usual, danced around the other horses. 
On his back glinted the polished silver of the contest saddle. 
Gerda turned upon Tyrrel, her eyes ablaze with emerald fire. 

“I’ll trouble you to take that off my horse. I am not 
bound by my bid. You did not accept, and the next bid 
canceled mine.” 

“You heard me say, the saddle wasn’t for sale,” quietly 
replied Tyrrel. 

“It was,” contradicted Gerda. “You were taking bids — 
no play about it.” 



In the Saddle 


53 


“ The saddle ceased to be on sale, Miss Keith, the instant 
I gathered that you’d like to own it. If your horse had run 
straight in the free-for-all, he’d have beaten Ante by a length 
or more. I took your first money. Won’t you take my 
saddle ? ” 

The appeal struck down Gerda’s anger — yet only for a 
moment. She flared again, more wrathful than before. 

“You would have sold it — the honorable trophy of your 
championship! ” 

“And you wanted to save it from disgrace. That means 
it’s yours by right,” argued Tyrrel. “Take it as a forfeit, 
if you hold me too low to accept it as a gift.” 

“A gift of what you do not care to keep! ” she scoffed. 

“ Because it’s no use to me, Miss Keith. I’ve had my fill 
of contest riding. I’m going to locate in your country.” 

Though Gerda’s gaze did not soften, her color deepened. 
She turned and leaped upon the prancing thoroughbred with 
an expert hop mount. It was an ungracious acceptance of 
the gift, but none the less an acceptance. Welsh frowned. 

Tyrrel’s face was as expressionless as a good poker 
player’s. He did not smile until he noticed Pilar waiting 
for him to give her a hand-up. She could have mounted 
almost as easily as had her cousin. He surmised this, yet 
hastened to offer his services. 

Gerda had on her old slouch hat, new boots, her broad 
leather belt, a flannel blouse, and a leather-bound divided 
skirt that had seen hard service. The younger girl’s dress 
was all new and fascinatingly unlike the ungainly mannish 
riding costume of convention. Her expensive brown cord rid¬ 
ing skirt had the flair cut of Mexican chaparajos. Its hand- 
carved leather trimmings were embossed with silver studs. 
Her blouse of silk-wool matched the scarlet of her Cupid’s- 
bow lips. For belt she wore a Spanish long-tasseled sash- 
girdle of bright blue silk. The broad brim of her velours 



54 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


sombrero tilted up on one side and down on the other in a 
Gainsborough curve. Its silver band sparkled with garnets. 

The foot that she confided to Tyrrel’s hand hardly filled 
his palm. It was shod in miniature cowboy boots of silky 
leather, embossed on the tops with silver diamonds and hearts. 
The gauntlet of the little hand that she placed on his shoulder 
had almost the texture of satin. 

She paused to smooth the folds of the scarlet blouse while 
Welsh and old Jake loped off after Gerda. Through the 
lowered fringes of their long lashes her black eyes noted with 
a somber look Tyrrel’s amused admiration. 

“How does it strike you, campeador mio?” she asked. 
“ Gerda nearly had a fit. That is why I bought the make-up. 
Best of the joke, she couldn’t deny it’s all as useful as it’s 
ornamental.” 

“ Come to look at it, that’s true,” Tyrrel admitted his 
surprise over the fact. “Don’t tell me Mr. Keith has missed 
the picture.” 

Pilar was up in the saddle before Tyrrel could give her 
his intended lift. Her voice quivered with scorn. 

“What do I care what he thinks — the mean old baldy! 
He left in the car right after dinner, without giving me the 
chance to show him.” 

“His loss, Miss Chavez. The sight of you would gladden 
the eyes of a blind fish.” 

“He’s not a fish,” snapped the girl. “You’re blind your¬ 
self not to see he’s the best and kindest and-” 

Her horse jumped to the jab of her pretty silver spurs. 
Tyrrel swung up into his saddle and meditatively struck a 
match to the last of Keith’s cigars. 

“Ante horse, they’ve got me guessing. Begins to look as 
if old Howbert of the Hackareeyas has a head as long as 
yours. Women — women—‘queer critters’ is right.” 




CHAPTER VII 


QUIJOTE d’aRTAGNAN 

U NTIL evening Tyrrel had a good chance to study 
Gerda’s straight lithe back. She kept in the lead 
with Welsh. The road was wide enough for three riders 
abreast. Tyrrel had expected to trail behind with the newly 
hired Kay Kay punchers. But at the very first, instead of 
joining her cousin and Welsh, Pilar had signed for him to 
ride with her. 

She seemed to have forgotten her petulance. She smiled 
and chatted and proved herself an altogether charming little 
road mate. Nor was she less fascinating when, with the 
uproll of the sun, she put on a Spanish lady’s riding mask. 
The coquettish glances of her black eyes over the rim of 
the mask were more than ever alluring. 

Tyrrel jogged along beside her, very willing to enjoy her 
piquant companionship. It was virtually a tete-a-tete. They 
rode far enough back of the leaders to avoid their dust. 
For the same reason, the cook rumbled the chuck-truck the 
same distance behind them. The Kay Kay riders and horse 
herd strung out half a mile or more in the rear. 

The situation, as well as the coquetry of the young girl, 
offered Tyrrel a rare opportunity to ingratiate himself with 
her. He went no further than a half-amused and wholly 
good-natured parrying of her advances. He lacked the con¬ 
ceit to believe she could be in earnest. If she was, then 
matter-of-fact honesty, he felt, required him to avoid taking 
advantage of her innocent impulsiveness. 

Not that she failed to stir him. On the contrary, her 
charm more than once quickened his pulse and brought a 

55 


56 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


glow into his ruddy brown eyes. She was a delightful little 
beauty. It would have been easy enough to have let him¬ 
self go — to have plunged head over heels in love with 
her. She possessed all the coquetry of a Spanish seftorita , 
coupled — seemingly at least — with the artlessness of a 
child. 

This last restrained him even while it quickened his tender¬ 
ness. In addition, he felt two other restraints. The first 
was his knowledge of her wealth. He was “on the make,” 
but not in that way. For another thing, every break in the 
dust cloud of the riders ahead showed him the erect form of 
Gerda Keith. The sun glinted on the silver-rimmed cantle 
of the saddle that she had accepted from him. 

At noon the party ate a cold snack, washed down with luke¬ 
warm water from one of the chuck-truck tanks. Gerda coldly 
ignored her cousin, asked Tyrrel two or three businesslike 
questions about the feeders, and jogged on again with Welsh. 

She held the pace to a running-walk or a jog-trot a good 
part of the day. Camp was pitched that evening in the 
mesquites at the crossing of a creek, rather over thirty miles 
out from Roswell. 

Towards the end of the long hours under the blazing sun 
Pilar’s plump little figure had drooped. At supper she was 
almost feverishly vivacious. She won smiles from all the 
circle of men around the camp fire — even from Slim and 
Redeye, Butch and Mack, the four ill-favored new punchers 
hired by Welsh for the drive. But she found excuse to with¬ 
draw early to the little tarpaulin tent. 

Gerda followed her departure with a look of grave ap¬ 
proval. 

“Pretty good. Still soft from the convent, yet not a 
whimper. I’ve an idea she won’t be numbered among the 
drags, Mat, at trail’s end.” 

“What else did you expect?” said Welsh. “She’s got 




Quijote D’Artagnan 


57 


Keith blood.” 

The indirect compliment won him a gracious smile from 
Gerda. They started to talk about Service and Henley, her 
favorite poets. He had studied up on them, and took turn 
about with the girl reciting lines or whole verses, until drowsi¬ 
ness sent her to join her cousin in the tent. All the time she 
had given as little heed to Tyrrel as to the four newly hired 
riders. 

But over-night her mood towards the Coloradoan changed, 
jin the cool gray dawn she met him at the breakfast fire with 
a hearty handclasp. 

“ That silver saddle was made for me, Dick. I’m right 
glad it did not go to that movie cowboy.” 

“ Same here, Miss Keith. There are plenty of real honest- 
to-goodness punchers in the pictures. But he’s a faker. 
Made me doubly glad to put the saddle where it belonged.” 

“Mil gracias /” Gerda gave thanks. “What d’you say to 
a lope? Enough dragging to come when we trail those 
feeders. I’m keen to look them over. Can we make it by 
moon? ” 

“It’s close upon thirty miles.” 

The girl’s eyes narrowed. 

“ I see now why you didn’t mention where we’d find your 
steers. Jake tells me, if we keep going the way we’re headed, 
we’ll land at the Lazy S Bar. As well you didn’t tell Mat. 
Old Jacarilla Howbert’s first veal was alleged to have been 
suckled by Welsh cows. He and One-Gun argued out the 
matter with their six-shooters. It happened to be the first 
time that Mat’s dad failed to get his man. While he was 
laid up for repairs, Jacarilla shifted his calves to a healthier 
range.” 

“ That’s ancient history.” 

“But there’s more. Years later, when Mat was twelve 
or fourteen, he and his dad met-up with Jacarilla. This time 






58 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


both One-Gun and Hack were laid out, but Hack had rather 
the better of the discussion. You don’t suppose Mat has 
forgotten that, do you?” 

“What of it? This deal is between the Kay Kay and 
me.” 

“Yes. Old Hack is long-headed enough to stay behind 
cover. Stick to your option story. It may keep Mat from 
breaking loose. Jacarilla must be mired down in a bad 
slough — offering a deal to the Kay Kay with Mat a partner. 
Below the market, too! ” 

“ It’s my offer, not his.” 

“Well, I hope that means you have the old rapscallion 
brand-blotter so roped and hog-tied that you can strip the 
hide off him. What commission do you figure to collect? 
If that’s not asking.” 

“About two thousand.” 

“No more than that? Thought you were on the make! 
Don’t be so soft. If he’s in a bad hole, he’ll have to pay 
whatever you ask for snaking him out. Don’t forget, he 
got his start by rustling.” 

“Never was good on history, Miss Keith, and I’m not a 
Kay Kay man — yet. All I know is, Mr. Howbert was white 
to me. You saw him side me when I made my get-away from 
Still Hell.” 

“What! that handy gran’dad with the snake medicine? 
So that was old Hack How? Why, even Mat didn’t know 
him. Bet with him against your riding Still Hell — and 
lost the bet! What a joke on Mat!” 

“ Better mislay his gun for him,” suggested Tyrrel. “ I’ll 
go bail that Mr. Howbert keeps his out of action.” 

The mirthful sparkle in Gerda’s eyes chilled to a cold: 
glitter. 

“You forget that Mr. Welsh is my partner. What righi 
have you to think I’d meddle with his private affairs? He 



Quijote D J Artagnan 


59 


will settle his score with Jacarilla Howbert as he sees fit.” 

“Mebbe so — mebbe so,” good-humoredly replied Tyrrel. 
“As your brother says — Quien sabe? Sabe Dios. From 
what you’ve told me about the results of the old man’s two 
arguments with Mr. Welsh’s father, I have an idea the score 
is more apt to be settled according to Howbert’s notions.” 

The point drove home. Gerda nodded. 

“You’re right. He knows Mat is coming. He’ll be loaded 
for bear. I’ll leave Mat in charge of Pilar and the outfit, 
while we breeze ahead to see if the feeders are ready for 
inspection.” 

Tyrrel offered no objection. On the other hand, he be¬ 
trayed little enthusiasm. When, during breakfast, Gerda 
announced the arrangement, he met Pilar’s exclamation of 
disappointment with sincere regrets over the loss of her com¬ 
pany. This did not altogether disarm Welsh’s resentment. 

“ Why rush off ahead, Miss Gerda? ” he muttered. “Half 
a day will make no difference, and — you know nothing about 
this fellow.” 

“ I’ll be safer with him than you with Pilar. No use your 
kicking cactus, Mat. It’s settled.” 

Welsh made no more attempts to argue. But after the 
forerunners left camp, Pilar found several enticing leads neces¬ 
sary before she could distract the attention of her cavalier 
for the day. 

Gerda held the champing Lobo to an easy lope only for 
the first mile. After that she gradually let him out, quite 
as eager as he for a long-distance race. Though bored, Ante 
took it as part of the day’s work. When Lobo tuned up 
from canter to gallop and gallop to full run, he lengthened 
his own stride to suit. At times the thoroughbred out- 
sprinted him. But on the rising ground he always came up 
again, neck and neck. 

By the end of the second hour the horses had covered 



60 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


more than twenty miles. Ante had not turned a hair. Lobo 
showed streaks of white lather on his glossy roan coat. But 
this was due to his fretfulness. Either horse could have held 
to the same pace for another two hours. When they slowed 
to a walk, it was not because they had tired. Gerda chose 
to talk. 

“That’s a bag of live bones under you, Dick. Clumsy 
looking as a bear, and no less nimble. What does he remind 
me of?” 

“Well, there was D’Artagnan’s orange-hued nag. Or how 
about the still more famous steed of Don Quixote?” 

“ Rosinante! ” 

“ His namesnake. Ante for short.” 

Gerda’s laughter burst out with a bell-like ring that side- 
jumped Lobo across the road. 

“Ante, for short! And what’s his rider for long? Don 
Quijote de la Mancha, of D’Artagnan of the King’s Mus¬ 
keteers, most devoted servitor of the queen?” 

Tyrrel grinned. 

“ I might scare up a windmill, if I had a lance. As for a 
queen to fight for, how about present company — Her 
Majesty of the Kay Kay? Only trouble, my trusty blade is 
in a jack-knife.” 

“Lance and rapier are back numbers. You pack a gun.” 

“ ’Scuse me, ma’am. I ain’t aimin’ to be no gunman. Never 
did cotton to life in them there big cities. We’re not out 
here where the West begins. We’re where it’s done finished 
sowin’ and reapin’ its wild oats and’s settled down to nurse 
its infant industries. I lug my little ol’ popper on’y because 
it’s handy for skunks and rattlers and mad coyotes.” 

This time Gerda’s laugh held a note of mockery. 

“0 heroic knight of the rodeo, what’s become of your 
lady’s colors ? Rattlers and coyotes of the two-legged variety 
are still found west of the Mississippi. You may have a 



Quijote D’Artagnan _61 

chance to smoke ’em up in honor of your dulcinea.” 

Tyrrel made grave pretense of searching his shirt front. 

“ Why ! Those colors have done faded away — yet she 
Ididn’t notice it. I call that flattering!” 

Gerda studied his solemn face with a cold gaze. Was he 
trying to infer that she, who had noticed, was more interested 
in him than was the owner of the colors? 

“Flattery is the word, Don Quijote D’Artagnan. Pilar 
probably was too intent upon gazing into your eyes. You 
men like that sort of thing. But don’t blame her if you get 
your fingers burnt. She’s only a child and she can’t help it. 
It’s in her blood — from her padre’s side. She started to 
flirt before she was out of her crib.” 

“ Count me out of the running, Miss Keith. I learned that 
your brother is riding herd on a big bunch of money that 
carries her brand. I haven’t a cow.” 

“What has that to do with it? You’re free, white and 
American.” 

“Free — yes. I own a horse and a rope. I can run off 
and hang myself if I want to. Only I won’t. Too American 
for that. As for white — hope I’m enough so not to take 
on a yellow streak, even if it’s golden yellow.” 

The mockery in Gerda’s eyes flashed into scorn. 

“You’re yellow clean through if you’re afraid of a girl’s 
money. A real American can ride his own horse to win, 
however heavily handicapped with his wife’s gold bricks.” 

Tyrrel paused to feel his breast and pockets as if to locate 
Pilar’s missing colors. 

“Long as you put it that way, Miss Keith, don’t know 
but what I’ll think about it.” 

Gerda first flushed, then whitened. The rowels of her spurs 
dug hard into the flanks of the thoroughbred. In his first 
outraged rush the roan sailed over the wire gate of the fence 
that bounded the near end of the Lazy S Bar range. Gerda 




62 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


made no attempt to curb him all the nine miles up-creek to 
the ranch. 

The big corral guided her to the old log ranch house hidden 
in the thicket-bordered grove of cottonwoods. The sun was 
still only half way up the eastern sky. She found the Mexican 
cook alone under the open-shed kitchen. 

Dumbfounded by the sudden vision of the hot-faced, cold- 
eyed dona Americana , the flustered Mexican could only jab¬ 
ber. She flung the reins over Lobo’s tossing head and sprang 
off to look in the house. The bunk and mess rooms showed 
signs of crude masculine attempts at house cleaning, but all 
were unoccupied. Outside, the still incoherent cook managed 
to focus his gestures in a point across the creek. 

After twice coming up alongside Gerda during the run 
from the drift fence, Tyrrel had taken the hint that his 
compan} r was not wanted. He had trailed far enough behind 
to avoid Lobo’s dust. 

From near the corral he sighted the peak of a familiar old 
hat disappearing around a knoll, up aslant the creek. As 
Ante’s quickened gallop brought him to the knoll, he glanced 
back and saw Gerda spur Lobo out of the grove on the 
opposite side of the channel. She started to race across the 
broad sandy bed of the trickling stream. His hail veered 
her his way, and also brought the departing rider face about. 

The old man jogged back to greet him, without a trace of 
surprise or pleasure. 

“Howdy, son. So you thought you’d come on ahead 
of-” 

Checked by the thud of Lobo’s hoofs, he glared past Tyrrel 
under his down-bushing eyebrows. His hand dropped to the 
hilt of his old Colt. 

“By ginger, buster kid, if you’re capping for Big Mat, 
I’ll plug you first crack and-” 

Again he stopped short. His hand groped up from his 





Quijote D’Artagnan 


63 


hip, to fumble with his hat. 

I “ G’day, ma’am. Didn’t look to see you ’fore sundown.” 

Gerda swirled her plunging horse around so that she could 
[face both men. 

“What’s the idea?” she demanded. “Hiding out here! 
|Are you trying to put something up on me or on Mr. Welsh? ” 

“No’um, not as I know of — leastways not now,” replied 
Howbert. He fished out a worn twenty-five-cent piece and 
held it before the angry eyes of the girl. “ I ain’t got nothing 
to do with any deal ’twixt you and this buster kid. Look 
for your ownself. Here’s what he paid me to bind his option. 
It’s legal as all cash down.” 

The absurdity of the subterfuge proved more than Gerda 
could resist. She burst into one of her full-lunged laughs. 

“ That’s no lie, Mr. Howbert. Legal is right. The joke’s 
on the Kay Kay. As well, though, not to tell it to Mr. Welsh. 
He might not find it so funny.” 

6i I’m not hunting trouble, ma’am.” 

“All right. I want the deal to go through. Where are 
those white-face yearlings?” 

“A right smart jaunt up-creek, Miss Gerdy. Best come 
back to the house and set till we get a feed.” 

But Gerda was more set on seeing the feeders. She led 
the way up-creek at a lope. The young steers had been 
allowed to scatter in the choice pasture above the bunching 
ground. Gerda started to inspect them. At noon she and 
Tyrrel shared the lunches of Howbert and his battered, red¬ 
headed old foreman Billy Bull. She did not quit the inspect¬ 
ing until late in the afternoon. 





CHAPTER VIII 


OLD FEUDS -NEW FEUDS 

W ELSH had not permitted the Kay Kay outfit to lag 
on the road. It was going into camp, half a mile ; 
up-creek from the ranch house when Gerda jogged back with 
Tyrrel and Howbert. 

As they came near, Welsh signed for Pilar to wait beside 
the truck. He swung out away from her. Slim and Redeye, | 
two of his boyhood friends, sidled around to where they 
could get a clear view of Howbert. Tyrrel had not been 
charmed by any one of the four tough-looking men hired 
by Welsh. Something sinister in the actions of this ugly pair 
caused him to push up alongside the old cowman. Gerda 
spurred ahead. 

“Rope it, Mat,” she advised. “Mr. Howbert says he is 
not hunting for trouble.” 

“Like as not, but-” 

“Nor are you — not with Pilar around. If you think 
the statute of limitations hasn’t wiped out your debt against 
Jacarilla, you’ll at least put off your collecting till Pilar is 
clear away.” 

“ Oh, don’t mind me,” politely deprecated the young girl. 
“I’m not at all nervous. It’s not as if they didn’t know 
how to shoot.” 

Welsh kept his watchful gaze fixed upon Tyrrel and How¬ 
bert. 

“ I’ll not be the first to draw, Gerda. But I want to say 
I have two men here as ready for action as myself. Now 
I’m going to give my opinion of the deal that Jacarilla and 
this fellow Tyrrel have cooked up against the Kay Kay. 

64 



Old Feuds — New Feuds 


65 


I haven’t seen that old rustler since he shot up dad. If 
he hadn’t changed so — if I’d known him there at the 
rodeo-” 

“ ’Twouldn’t ’a’ been Still Hell only,” grunted Howbert. 

“You’ve said it.” 

“Yeppe. That’s agreed, unanimous. Next comes my say 
’bout now. Mebbe I got sort of old-fashioned notions in 
my cabeza. I don’t disremember they’s ladies present. 
’Twouldn’t be polite to muss you all up, right before ’em. 
Supposing you take back that there appellation which you 
used to designate me by. Leastways, I’ll ask you to back 
up on it pro tempo. Your dad ain’t the only man got leaded 
for calling me that.” 

“ The right word but the wrong time,” gibed Welsh. “ I’ll 
take it back — for future use. But this deal is a horse of 
another color. You knew me from the first. My name was 
on the list of contestants. You schemed with Tyrrel to 
gouge me. If it’s not that — if it isn’t a crooked deal, then 
you’re mired. Otherwise you’d never have sold to my outfit 
at a quarter cent under market.” 

Howbert slued around to bore into Tyrrel’s eyes with a 
gimlet stare. 

“Quarter cent under? Is it a crooked deal?” 

“ It is not.” 

“You ain’t double-crossing me?” 

“ No.” 

“ That’s your say-so, buster kid. Lord help you if you’re 
lying! Now, Mr. Welsh, do your jawing to him. Miss 
Gerdy’ll tell you it’s his herd. He’s got a legal option on it.” 

Welsh flushed purple. 

“Pretty slick! You don’t put over a dodge like that on 
me. The deal is off.” 

“ Hold on, Mat,” interposed Gerda. “ The Kay Kay closed 
with Mr. Tyrrel’s offer. A bargain’s a bargain.” 




66 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“Not if made under false pretenses. Don voted against 
it. If I’d known that this — this fellow Howbert-” 

“All right, then. Have your own way. That leaves me 
free to go it alone. I’ve seen the steers. They look good 
to me. Mr. Tyrrel, if it’s the same thing to you, I’ll take 
back that Kay Kay bank note, and give you my check 
to-” 

Up shot Welsh’s hand to clutch Lobo’s bridle as if the girl 
were about to dash away from him. 

“Wait, Gerda! You can’t mean it. You can’t pull out 
of the partnership like this. I won’t stand for it!” 

Gerda reached for the plaited horsehair quirt that hung 
from her saddlehorn. 

“ Let go my bridle. That’s better. Now I’ll tell you where 
you get off, Mat Welsh. It’s your privilege to settle your 
private squabbles to suit yourself. Only you’ll not mix them 
with the business of the Kay Kay. Our outfit has made a 
bargain. We’re going to keep it. Those feeders are prime 
young steers — not over a handful of scrubs in the whole 
herd. Do you think I’ve gone blind?” 

“I—Hood Lord, Gerda, I’m not doubting your judg¬ 
ment. Only-” 

“ I’ve named the only ‘ only ’ in this deal. Tomorrow Dick 
will make delivery, and you’ll stand ready to fill in Donnie’s 
check to him.” 

Welsh signed to Slim and Redeye, and turned away with 
a look whose bitterness was tempered with relief. Beyond all 
shadow of doubt, the girl would have carried out the threat 
to leave the partnership. He could swallow almost anything 
to head off that disaster. 

But he could not bring himself to accept Howbert’s hos¬ 
pitable invitation for all to take supper at the ranch. Every¬ 
one else caught at the chance. Even Cookie, the fat cook, 
went to test his Mexican rival’s chili con came and frijoles , 






Old Feuds — New Feuds 


67 


tamales , paper-thin tortillas and honey-sweet dulces. 

While Welsh sat alone, staring hard into the dying camp 
fire, the satiated feasters down at the ranch house grouped 
before the glowing little fireplace and listened to his old enemy 
drawl grewsome tales of the Lincoln County war. The cow¬ 
man omitted neither the names of participants nor the details 
of treachery, rustling, and murder. 

Pilar crouched on a wolfskin, tense and spellbound by the 
fascination of horror. Gerda appeared even more fascinated, 
but her feeling was not based upon abhorrence. Her gray- 
green eyes glinted and flashed as she egged on the old man 
from one frightful account to another. 

The four, ill-favored, new punchers of the Kay Kay 
glowered at him and each other. They came of Lincoln 
County families, three of whom had sided with One-Gun 
Welsh’s faction. Butch’s red face took on the look of an 
angered razorback boar. Redeye sneered with the ferocity 
of a one-eyed gray wolf. Slim sat very still, his twisted face 
blank but his white eyes glittering under his receding fore¬ 
head with the cold malevolence of a rattlesnake. The fourth 
man, Mack, watched the three with wary sidelong glances, 
his hand close to the butt of his gun. But Howbert only 
grinned and blandly went on rasping the sons of his former 
enemies. They sat and took it all. They knew the old man’s 
reputation. 

Of all the company, Tyrrel alone sat through the evening 
with neither relish or bitterness. 

“Thanks be, those days are past,” he said, when Gerda 
reluctantly rose to leave. “A man now has a chance to keep 
the peace without having first to shoot his neighbors to 
pieces.” 

“ Let the same conditions come around again, you’d be in 
the thick of them,” predicted Gerda. 

“I might. But the minute they started going, I’d start 



68 


Tyrrel ofi the Cow Country 


going, too — for elsewhere. I’d run like a scared jackrabbit.” 

Howbert grinned at the back of the dour-faced out-lurching 
punchers. 

44 Don’t you be too sure ’bout that, son. Man never can 
tell what he’ll do when he gets in a fracas. Country’s all 
fenced up, though, now. No chance for an outsider to bust 
in. No free grass left.” 

44 Except the Tabru range,” qualified Gerda. 

44 Dry,” grunted the cowman. “Ain’t it a shame? Grass 
to your knee, and might ’s well be a alkali flat.” 

During the ride up to camp Pilar squeaked an alarm over 
every vague shape that loomed in the darkness. Each 
time she swung her horse close to Ante. At the camp she 
drew rein in the shadow of the truck. When Tyrrel sought 
to hand her down, she contrived to slip and fall into his arms. 

She was as soft and cuddly as a kitten. Tyrrel had good 
excuse to hold her fast and take toll from her scarlet lips. 
Instead, like her, he feigned an awkward slip of his grasp. 
It thrust her off from him, almost upsetting her. 

“Whew! What a bungle!” he apologized. 44 Mighty dark 
here. Hope it didn’t hurt you, Miss Chavez.” 

44 You’d not have bungled if I’d been Gerda!” 

Tyrrel chuckled. 

44 Good reason. She’s always on and off before a man 
can lend a hand.” 

The girl stamped her little foot. 

44 You’ve had your last chance with me!” 

He caught her dainty head between his hands, stooped, 
and gave her a brusque kiss full upon her pouting lips. 

44 There, little girl, that will show you. Now take your 
dollie and go home.” 

She slashed at him with her quirt, but he was already 
beyond reach of the lash. 

In the morning Gerda did not rout out the younger girl 



Old Feuds — New Feuds 


69 


for breakfast. When at dawn she rode off with the men, 
Pilar still lay in the little tarpaulin tent, asleep or pretend¬ 
ing to sleep. She was left to brood alone all morning. 
Cookie had his hands full, filling the water-tanks and tinker¬ 
ing the truck engine. 

The others were no less busy, up at the bunching ground. 
Gerda, Welsh, Tyrrel and Howbert made tally of the young 
steers as the Lazy S Bar riders drifted the herd across the 
creek and up a cut-bank gully. At the head of the narrow 
little arroyo the animals were taken in charge by the Kay 
Kay punchers. 

The rebranding of the steers was left to be done after 
they had been trailed to the Kay Kay range. Gerda wished 
to get Welsh away from the Lazy S Bar as soon as possible. 
Yet even without the delay of branding, hours were required 
to make the delivery. The more cunning steers hid in the 
chaparral up and down the creek. 

But the last strays were finally driven in. As they clattered 
past, up the arroyo, Gerda drew a deep breath of satisfac¬ 
tion. 

“ One thousand, seventeen. What do you make it, Dick? ” 

“ Fifteen.” 

“ Eleven,” corrected Welsh. 44 What’s more, that last 
bunch of seven-” 

44 They don’t belong, by rights,” broke in Howbert. 44 Good 
stock but wild. Mavericks we combed out the bosques with 
other outlaw cattle last round-up. Le’s call the tally a even 
thousand. Easier to figger in round numbers.” 

44 What would you say they average?” asked Tyrrel. 
44 Wait. We’ll each write down our guess.” 

Welsh frowned, suspicious of a catch. Yet the figures 
of the other side could not bind him unless he chose to accept 
them. He jotted down his estimate on the paper which 
Gerda had folded over in turn for Tyrrel and Howbert, after 




70 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


noting her own guess. To his surprise, Howbert’s estimate 
came within ten pounds of his own. Gerda’s was tw T enty-five 
higher, and Tyrrel’s fifty lower. 

The big man’s blue eyes gleamed. 

“You’re the seller, Tyrrel. We’ll accept your figure.” 

“No, we’ll not,” differed Gerda. “Dick is from Colorado. 
Maybe eighteen-month steers don’t run quite so heavy up 
there this time of year. Anyway, we’ll average our four 
estimates, and figure on that.” 

“ Fair enough, Miss Gerdy,” grunted Howbert. 

Tyrrel said nothing. But behind the expressionless mask 
of his face he considered the two buyers. Welsh had shown 
his true colors. Though he carried his head high and eyed 
everyone with a straightforward look, he was at heart greedy, 
unscrupulous and vindictive. 

Not so easy to place Gerda. High-tempered and brave; 
the reverse of mean-spirited; hard, yet not lacking a sense 
of humor; shrewd in a deal, without being ungenerous ; strong 
and skillful; keen upon adventure that spelled danger to her¬ 
self or others; fair-minded in a way, yet capable of sug¬ 
gesting that another take advantage of a bogged associate. 

Of course, however, she had looked upon Jacarilla How¬ 
bert from Welsh’s viewpoint. She apparently had known of 
the old cowman only as her partner’s personal enemy and a 
despicable cattle-thief. Was she really as hard as she ap¬ 
peared? Would marriage or motherhood soften her? 

Her clear brain was swiftly multiplying the estimated aver¬ 
age weight of the steers by the agreed price per pound. 
Welsh checked her calculations with grim deliberation. He 
found no mistakes. 

The old cowman shook his head and handed the paper 
over to Tyrrel. 

“Left my specs to home. Can’t see close up ’thout’em. 
You tally for me, son. Reckon, at a quarter cent under 



Old Feuds — New Feuds 


71 


market, it figgers some’ers round fifty thousand.” 

“Almost fifty-two,” said Tyrrel. “I’ll not trouble to go 
over Miss Keith’s figures. If Mr. Welsh will fill out the 
check to me, I’ll endorse it to you. The balance due me out 
of it, I’ll leave in your hands until I have use for the 
money.” 

“ No, by—” Welsh stifled the oath, half uttered. “What 
did I tell you, Gerda? You see now it’s all a cooked up 
deal.” 

Gerda snapped the check out of his fingers. 

“I told you, Mat, this is Kay Kay business. How’ll I 
make this out, Mr. Tyrrel ? Dick or Richard ? ” 

“ Either goes, Miss Keith.” 

“Richard, then. Wasn’t it Dick the Lion-hearted who 
came into his kingdom because Walter Tyrrel slipped an 
arrow into King William Red-head P No, that was Dick’s 
granddad, wasn’t it? At any rate, we get Richard and 
Tyrrel together here — this how.” 

She wrote the name in a hand as bold and clear as Welsh’s, 
filled in the amount, and countersigned the check. She thrust 
it and the indelible pencil at her partner. 

“You too, Mat. Donnie’s fist is enough. Mine double 
cinches it. But I want Mr. Tyrrel to feel absolutely sure 
there’s going to be no come-back on this deal.” 

“If it was anyone else than you!” muttered Welsh. 

The girl smiled. His yielding was no light compliment to 
the charm of her beauty, if not to the power of her will. 

Tyrrel took the doubly countersigned check and endorsed 
it to Howbert. But the old cowman waved it back. 

“Hold on,” he said, his face as emotionless as a piece of 
weather-bleached leather. “I aim to square accounts all 
round, right now. Here’s my checkbook. My check’ll be 
good, minute I hit into town. Write out what I owe you. 
I can sign ’thout seeing clear. Wouldn’t mind having you 



72 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


as witness, Miss Gerdy.” 

Rather surprised, but not at all unwilling, Tyrrel wrote 
the check. Howbert laboriously signed with an illegible scrawl 
and waddled around beside Gerda. 

“ If you don’t mind reading it out loud, ma’am. What’s 
she say P ” 

“ It reads, 6 Pay to the order of Richard Tyrrel two thou¬ 
sand dollars.’ ” 

The old man pushed up his hat and drew the back of his 
hand across his wrinkled forehead. 

“Son, I own up, the joke’s on me. I was all set to plug 
you. Agreement was, you got a couple thousand. You went 
and fixed the deal a quarter cent higher’n I said. Looked 
sort of like you was figgering on hornswoggling me out of 
the difference.” 

“I considered it white of you giving me the option,” 
replied Tyrrel. “You said you’d take half a cent under 
the market, but you didn’t fix that as the price. There 
was no reason why I shouldn’t get you more if I could.” 

Gerda’s face flooded with hot color. 

“ So that was it? You took advantage of my friendliness 
to work me in favor of a — man like this?” 

Tyrrel silently endorsed the check and added to it a sheaf 
of bank notes out of his rodeo prize money. The girl drew 
back‘from his out-reaching hand, more angry than before. 

“Keep your sneak pay!” 

“It’s the quarter cent difference, Miss Keith. Since you 
believe my playing fair with Mr. Howbert was playing crooked 
with you, the least I can do now is to cut down your pay¬ 
ment to the half cent under market. I may be on the make, 
but it is the first time I ever stood in the middle of a deal 
and had both ends try to brand me a double-crosser.” 

The old cowman snorted like one of his steers. 

“Hough! Dammit, son, I eat crow. Stick your wad 



Old Feuds •— New Feuds 


73 


back into jour jeans. You’ve went and got in bad with 
Miss Gerdy trying to do me a good turn. That quarter 
cent’s on me. Here — make out my check to the Kay Kay 
for it.” 

The generous offer failed to move Tyrrel. He continued 
to stand with the check and bank notes outheld to the girl. 
The scarlet of her flush deepened to crimson. 

Naturally enough, Welsh thought he saw an opportunity 
to regain lost ground. He stepped in protectingly beside the 
girl. 

“Leave the fellow to me, Gerda. I’ll soon settle his 
insolence.” 

“You’ll shy clear, Mat. I’m running this.” Gerda put 
out her hand towards Tyrrel, palm outward. “You’ve 
downed your windmill, Don Quijote, first tilt. I back up. 
The money is yours, squarely earned. I’ll not take a cent 
of it. But I’ll take your hand, if you’re willing to call 
quits.” 

Tyrrel gravely accepted the unexpected apology. The 
vibrant clasp of the girl’s strong hand, her smile, the glow 
in her lovely gray-green eyes, combined to set his nerves 
tingling. The blood leaped in his veins. Yet he succeeded 
in masking all outward signs of his intense pleasure. 

“Quits suits me, Miss Keith.” 

Most men she knew — Welsh included-r-would have sought 
to curry favor by displaying more appreciation for her 
graciousness. The Coloradoan took it too much as a matter 
of course. She stiffened. 

“Then the deal is settled. You’ve made your delivery and 
received your pay. I take it, you’ll be hitting the back trail. 
Adios .” 

The polite indifference of her tone redoubled the sting of 
the words. They took for granted that he was about to 
leave— an d her tone said she did not care. Yet, hard hit 




74 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


as he was, he did not wince. His own tone sounded no less 
indifferent. 

44 I’m not altogether sure about back-trailing, Miss Keith. 
Mr. Howbert spoke of taking me on. I told him I’d think 
it over.” 

44 No, think now” put in the cowman. 44 You’re here, son, 
and I reckon you’ll stay. I got nary kith nor kin. I’ll give 
you a tryout. If you make good, wintering with the Lazy 
S Bar, mebbe I might figger on letting you chip in your wad 
for the little end of a partnership.” 

44 Sounds good,” said Tyrrel. 44 If you don’t mind, though, 
I’ll first look around a bit.” 

Welsh broke into a short, harsh laugh. 

44 No use bluffing. You two can’t pull the wool over my 
eyes. You’ve been in cahoots since before the rodeo.” 

“Easy, Mat — ease off,” advised Gerda, veering about in 
a gust of contrariety. 44 Dick promised he’d consider hiring to 
me. Jake says one of the new men — the one called Mack — 
has quit. He pulled out before dawn. Bad blood between 
him and the other three, stirred up by Mr. Howbert’s remi¬ 
niscences last night. That leaves us short-handed. We’ll 
need Dick on the dry trail from Gallinas.” 

44 Not if I ride herd myself,” said Welsh. 44 You know I 
can’t stand for a Lazy S Bar man in our outfit.” 

44 He’s not one yet.” The girl smiled confidently at Tyrrel 
and the old cowman. 44 I’m counting on you, Dick, to help 
me out. It’s not going to be easy, trailing the herd west 
from the railroad. I’m sure Mr. Howbert will hold open his 
offer to you — to oblige me.” 

44 Sure, Miss Gerdy. The boy’s welcome to take all the 
time he’s a mind to, just so he don’t wait till I dry up and 
blow away.” 

Tyrrel nodded acknowledgment, swung upon Ante, and 
jogged off towards the herd. He did not speak to Gerda. 



Old Feuds — New Feuds 


75 


If he had so much as looked at her before mounting, he must 
have jumped into the air and cracked his heels together. 

He would have been willing to beg permission to join the 
Kay Kay. Yet he had bluffed the girl. He had stood pat, 
and she had been the one to give in. He was on the outfit 
at her urging and as a favor to her. 



CHAPTER IX 


HARD TO HANDLE 

U NCERTAIN whether to be pleased or annoyed over 
Tyrrel’s unceremonious going, Gerda gazed after him 
in tight-lipped silence. Howbert had been gnawing the end 
of his tobacco plug. Pie spat and squinted hard at Welsh. 

“Reckon that boy’ll make a right smart cowman, some 
these days.” 

“Too smart — if he sides the wrong outfit,” thrust Welsh. 
“ I’m not through with you yet — nor with him.” 

“Wait, Mat! I told you-” 

“We haven’t our bill of sale, Gerda. We’re not through 
with this deal till we get it. That’s sound business. How 
do we know where the Lazy S Bar got those feeders? ” 

The reputed former rustler did not reach for his gun. 
There was a lady present. His twisted grin bared a single 
tobacco-stained tooth. Plis voice showed no trace of feeling. 

“Brands hereabouts ain’t easy to blot with the Lazy S 
Bar — like the old Welsh W Bar — and you don’t pick 
up mavericks now’days like when ’twas all open range.” 

“ Besides, we get our bill of sale from Dick,” put in Gerda. 
“Yours goes to him.” 

The old man’s sneer smoothed into a smile. 

“ I’m ’bliged you kept me from disremembering, ma’am. 
They ain’t going to be any come-back on the boy if I can 
help it.” 

He jogged down-creek with the partners and went on to 
the ranch house. As the Kay Kay outfit was breaking camp, 
he came back to hand Gerda his bill of sale. It was made 
out to “Dik Teral” and duly witnessed by three Lazy S 

76 



Hard to Handle 


77 


Bar riders. 

“ There you are, Miss Gerdy. The young buster can sign 
that over to you, or make out his own. Suit yourself. The 
boy’s white. I’d like you should head him back ’fore long. 
I’m minded to do well by him.” 

Gerda’s straight brows came together. 

“Are you sure it would be doing him a good turn? Any¬ 
body tying up with the Lazy S Bar-” 

Howbert broke in with some little irritation. 

“You ain’t got any call to talk so uppity, ma’am. They 
didn’t never prove it. ’Sociating w r ith me won’t brand him as 
side-kick to a jailbird. All us old-timers done more or less 
rustling — your pa included. Only difference, I didn’t have 
cows enough to match up the calves. It made ’em look like 
they had all went in for twins.” 

The corners of Gerda’s red lips quirked, but her eyes did 
not flicker. 

“ I can remember when your brand was called the Sneaky 
Snake.” 

“Not now’days, though—’less it was by Big Mat; and 
he wouldn’t say it more’n once in my hearing. No’um; soon’s 
I got my range stocked up, my cows stopped having twins.” 

“Well, in that case—” Gerda paused to tap her boot 
top with the buckskin thong of her braided-hair quirt. “ I 
have an idea that Dick Tyrrel thinks things over, and then 
does pretty much as he dam’ pleases.” 

“That’s him, all hunkydory. Only I want you shouldn’t 
say whoa to him if he pleases to head back thisaway. Which 
reminds me, Miss Gerdy. I knowed your pa, and I’ve heard 
tell ’bout your brother. He’s white. You and him make the 
Kay Kay two-thirds the same. If I was you, I’d turn back 
that bunch of wild steers. You’ll find they won’t-” 

“ Pretty soft for you! ” cut in Gerda. “ No, thanks. You 
made delivery — called it round numbers. Our thousand head 





78 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


will shrink enough on the trail.” 

“ That’s just why I—” The cowman stopped at sight 
of Welsh riding around the end of the truck. He spat, 
grunted, and turned his horse homewards. 66 G’day, ma’am. 
It’s your own fun’ral ’bout them renegades.” 

In response to Welsh’s query, Gerda merely showed him 
the bill of sale. She was very angry over Howbert’s sug¬ 
gestion. Had he asked straight out for the seven steers, 
she would readily have given them back to him. But it made 
her furious to think that the sneaky old rustler should have 
tried to work her for the gift under pretense of doing the 
Kay Kay a good turn. Did he take her for a fool? 

To tell Welsh, however, might explode the dynamite of his 
long-cherished hatred against his own and his father’s old 
enemy. The pressing need was to get the herd of steers safe 
away without any gun play. She owed that much to her 
brother, if not to herself. Against Donald’s judgment, she 
had insisted upon making the deal. It must be carried 
through without any hitch. 

Mid-afternoon they came up with the herd, drifting along 
the bench land parallel with the creek bottom. Being frisky 
and unaccustomed to trailing, the young steers were proving 
a big handful for the punchers. Every man, in turn, hastened 
to change horses. Even Ante was hot from the continual 
sprinting to head back steers that dashed for the chapparal 
along the creek bank. 

Gerda and Pilar joined in the chase. Welsh, followed by 
the bumping chuck-truck, rode ahead to pick out a bed 
ground. At sunset the white-faces, rather less frisky after 
the seven-mile drive, shuffled past the truck and supper fire. 
By twilight they were milled and bedded down in a close- 
packed circular mass. 

Supper found everyone in good humor. Lively as had been 
the riding, the long drive was well begun. Not even the 



Hard to Handle 


79 


bunch of wild steers had been able to break clear in their 
many dashes for freedom. 

Welsh himself forgot his ill-humor against Tyrrel and 
joined in the good-natured jests and gibes around the camp 
fire. But no one lingered before its dying glow. With the 
exception of the night horse-wrangler and the first relief of 
the night guard, all, including the girls, hunted their blankets. 
Voices soon died away. The camp became still. 

With the fading of the day, the brilliant light of the full 
moon had glamored alike the bald plain and tree-fringed creek 
bottom. From far away came the distance-mellowed yelps 
of a coyote. The young white-faces were still on their own 
familiar range. Not even the wild bunch proved restless. 
All remained quiet where they had lain down. 

Tyrrel walked his night horse round and round the bedded 
herd, keeping opposite Redeye, his fellow guard. As he rode 
he hummed a trail ballad far older than himself. At every 
pause between verses he heard the lilting ditty of his watch 
mate. Redeye was singing an obscene dance-hall song, but 
his throaty notes blurred the vile words into a meaningless 
jumble of melody. From the intervening space came the 
contented sigh of the “ breathing acres.” A humorous 
thought flickered across the serenity of Tyrrel’s own content. 

“Back again to lullabying beef! Oh, well, less pay but 
more play—and not so jolty as sitting on Still Hell. Pay, 
cowboy? Man alive! what’s the play itself but pay? Own 
up — you’d be glad to shell out your bottom dollar for the 
privilege of riding in sight of her. Talk about the face of 
Helen that knocked over the walls of Troy. I know a face 
that’d raise the roof — every roof — in Albany and New 
York!” 

At the end of the third hour, when the new relief was 
called, he rolled into his blankets, still afloat in pleasant 
reveries. His closed eyes opened inwardly upon a dream- 



80 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


vision of Gerda. Her crazy roan Lobo was side-jumping up 
among the stars. She wore a shirt of over-lapping scales — 
scales made of shining twenty-dollar gold pieces. Upon her 
head was clapped the cook’s blackest kettle. With one of 
the poles of the tarp tent out-thrust for lance, she was gal¬ 
loping full tilt into a galvanized-iron windmill. Between the 
stilt legs of the windmill, he saw the spectator-crowded grand¬ 
stand of the rodeo toppling over. It crashed down upon 
his head like the temple roof upon blind Samson —- 

He roused to awareness of knuckles rapping his forehead. 
The cracked voice of the old night wrangler muttered in 
his ear: 

“Nubudy to home — nubudy to home! By the trombone 
of Gabriel — Eugh! Coming to life, is he? Roll out, kid. 
Your relief.” 

Tyrrel groaned, yawned, and sat up to voice his feelings. 

“Alas, ’tis the nightingale and not the lark, Juliet! What 
d’you mean, walking your knuckles over my face, you hard- 
boiled screech owl?” 

But the wrangler had wisely flitted. Tyrrel groped for 
his dew-drenched boots. The moon had set. He shivered in 
the chill of the blackness before dawn and smiled at the 
familiar nuzzling of Ante’s lip on his shoulder. That cussed 
wrangler was not such a bad sort, after all. It meant a good 
deal to find your horse saddled for you. 

Come to think, the fellow was lame little Jake. Pretty 
white of the old buckaroo! If he was a sample of the Kay 
Kay outfit, Big Mat would be the only killjoy of the trail. 
But those three Lincoln County punchers promised none too 
savory companionship. 

At daybreak the herd rose and started to graze. As they 
scattered out, Tyrrel and his fellow guard headed them in 
the general direction of the day’s drive. The other punchers 
soon came to drift the grazing steers gently along their way. 



Hard to Handle 


81 


Neither Welsh nor Gerda knew much about the country in 
and near the Lazy S Bar range. It was all strange to them. 
They rode ahead to line out a trail towards Jack’s Peak, 
oblique to the Jacarilla Mountains. 

Tyrrel’s fellow guard, the wolfish-faced Redeye, bolted his 
breakfast and went to help Cookie load the bed-rolls of the 
other punchers. Almost at once Pilar stepped daintily from 
the tent. 

It was the first time that Tyrrel had been alone with the 
girl since his kiss in the dark. All the previous day she had 
ignored him. She halted with a little start as of shocked 
surprise. 

“Oh! You here?” 

Tyrrel smiled quizzically. 

“What’s the answer, senorita? Want a humble apology 
on my bended knee? Or are you after another salutation — 
but no, that wouldn’t be right, little girl, even in fun.” 

Pilar stamped her tiny foot. 

“ Santisima! If you call me that again, I’ll — I’ll knife 
you! ” 

“ My, my! She admires for to change her name to Carver! 
Well, then, let’s make it ‘Big Miss Chavez.’ What, still 
pouting? Fact is, little — lady, you’re a wild woman, but 
you’re keen. You’re an Elberta. Know what that is? Well, 
it has a tang and a high saccharine percentage, and it grows 
on a peach tree.” 

“Ah! ” mocked the girl. “ Is he not a grand campeador 
at throwing the bull! ” 

“No bull about it, child. Just the honest-to-goodness 
truth. You’re a little peach, you’re a little darling, you’re 
a little ninety-nine per cent coquet. Leave me alone, and 
I’ll not kiss you again. You’re a nice girl, and I like you. 
But I saw another girl first. Understand?” 

Pilar came close, her black eyes very bright and eager. 



82 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“That sounds like a dare, Don Ricardo.” 

“No, only a warning. Don’t cry if you tempt me into 
playing and then find I’m not in earnest. That’s all.” 

“Wait and see! If what I feel towards you is the real 
love — the grand passion! Ah, Dick, you are all gringo. 
You do not realize what it means to be Spanish! We women 
of the South, our blood is mingled fire, and honey, and wine! ” 

“ Sorry, but I voted dry. The honey’s all right, if offered 
with the milk of human kindness. As for the fire — you ought 
to know that children shouldn’t play with fire.” 

The girl could not repress a giggle. It spoiled the effect 
of her dramatic pose. Yet she tried hard to strike a tragic 
note. 

“We shall see whose fingers are burnt first!” 

“Just so it’s not those teenty-weenty paddies of yours, 
Miss Pilar.” 

The sincere good-will behind this banter checked her heroics. 

“ Oh .... if you really feel that way .... I like 
you almost enough for a friend.” 

Tyrrel nodded, well satisfied. As long as the girl under¬ 
stood how he felt, a little innocent flirting would amuse her 
and do no harm. 

When the truck started, they cantered ahead to overtake 
the herd, with Pilar attuned to the more moderate key of 
coquetry tempered by friendliness. 

They overtook the steers while they were still drift-grazing 
across country between creeks. By mid-morning the growing 
liveliness of the yearlings showed that they were fed up. The 
punchers went into quick action. Swing riders whooped up 
and down the sides of the herd, driving in the scattered ani¬ 
mals until they strung into a white-spotted red ribbon half 
a mile long. A pair of pointers, the two foremost cowboys, 
rode on each side of the leaders as guides to the wavering 
column of cattle. 



Hard to Handle 


83 


But not all the young steers submitted tamely to be driven. 
Though none were unwilling to shuffle along at a brisk gait, 
some jumped about like the enormous calves they were, tails 
up and heads down. They blatted and snorted and made 
frequent breaks to bolt from the herd. The worst of these 
rebels belonged to the bunch of seven wild steers. 

Gailor, the day horse-wrangler, kept the “ cavvy ” close 
to the rear of the herd, for every rider had need to change 
his horse before noon. When Tyrrel shifted his saddle from 
Ante he had also to shift Pilar’s. She had ridden as hard as 
any of the men and was keen to keep on the jump. Her only 
stipulation was that her fresh pony should be a gentled horse. 

Gerda came racing back from the long ride ahead. Dur¬ 
ing the return she had run Welsh’s horse to a stand at the 
creek they had chosen for the noon halt. Without asking 
or waiting for assistance, she roped a fresh horse out of the 
cavvy with a short “hoolhan,” and shifted her saddle and 
bridle from Lobo. 

The new horse, though far from being an outlaw, was not 
well broken. He jumped and pitched with a violence that 
would have unseated any other than an expert. Gerda gave 
him spur and quirt like a broncho buster. He broke into a 
bucking run that soon settled down to a steady lope. 

“Your cousin can ride,” said Tyrrel. 

“ So can I, when I want to,” replied Pilar. “ First year 
at the Denver convent I was permitted to visit a friend who 
belonged to a girls’ riding class. Stock Show week she fell 
ill. I slipped in under her name and coaxed the horse wrangler 
to saddle me a bad one.” 

“ You could coax the canary out of the cat, senorita .” 

Pilar giggled at the remembrance of her escapade. 

“ I made excuse not to mount until in the middle of the 
ring. That darling outlaw started his fireworks right in the 
bunch of other girls. Voder de Dios! What fun! With 



84 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


the silly flat saddle and short stirrups, it took me all my time 
to stick without pulling leather. How the women shrieked! 
You see, no one except the wrangler knew I could ride.” 

“ My mistake just now,” apologized Tyrrel. “ Thought 
you asked for a gentled one.” 

“ Of course. Why bump the bumps when it’s not fun at 
all, but mere ordinary trail driving?” 

“Why? That’s easily answered, senorita —‘For men must 
work, and women must weep; there’s little to earn, and many 
to keep’—in this string of pig-headed yearlings. Ye-oiv /” 

With the yell, Tyrrel sprinted his horse to head off a 
particularly wayward steer. 

But the attention of even the liveliest animals soon cen¬ 
tered upon the water that they smelled ahead. Shortly after 
noon the herd reached and scattered out along the creek 
which Welsh and Gerda had chosen for the midday siesta. 
Nearly all the punchers dozed for the two hours that passed 
before the steers began to shift ground. 

Twilight found the outfit a long seventeen miles from its 
starting point at dawn. The bed ground lay on the desolate 
prairie, miles out from the green ridges of the Jacarilla 
Mountains. The drive was well under way. 




CHAPTER X 


jacarii/la’s ear mark 

N EXT day, after the noon stop, Pilar discovered some¬ 
thing wrong with her saddle. But Gerda curtly vetoed 
the younger girl’s request for Tyrrel to stay behind and 
make the repairs. She sent him on with the other punchers 
and remained with Welsh. 

Neither she nor her partner was in any hurry to leave the 
big sycamore, on the bank of the almost dry creek. There 
was little the matter with Pilar’s saddle, but it gave them 
excuse to loiter in the pleasant shade. No need to drag along 
in the dust of the herd. The steers were now driving well. 
Mid-afternoon would see all off Howbert’s range. 

When Welsh and the two girls rounded the low ridge that 
overlooked the north drift-fence of the Lazy S Bar, they 
first saw the tail of the drive going down over the next 
ridge. In the draw between, three men were waiting to 
replace the cut wires of the fence. Gerda was first to name 
them: 

“ Jacarilla, one of his riders, and Dick. The old rustler 
has come to make sure we’re trailing only what we bought.” 

“ It’s not that,” differed Welsh. “There’s no doubt he 
sent men ahead of us to drift all his cattle clear of our trail. 
We haven’t seen so much as one bunch — not even a stray 
steer or cow. No, it’s his scheming with Tyrrel. They’re 
laying out how to scatter the herd and rustle a bunch. With 
not a single head rebranded, we can’t prove ownership, once 
they get them back on Jacarilla’s range.” 

“Forget it, Mat. Dick is straight. He stayed behind 
merely to close the fence. Old Hack just happened to get 

85 


86 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


here ahead of us.” 

“Yes, it gave Dick an excuse to wait for me,” confidently 
murmured Pilar. 

But Gerda had not missed the cold glint in Welsh’s blue 
eyes. She spoke curtly to her cousin. 

“Lope ahead. Don’t stop till you overtake Cookie. We’ll 
be along after a bit.” 

Pilar smiled and raced down the slope. But she reined in 
her pony beside the group at the fence. She was chatting 
gaily with Howbert when Gerda and Welsh jogged to the 
foot of the ridge. 

The two lower wires of the fence had been fastened up 
again. Howbert and his stolid Mexican companion sat with 
their ropes tied to the top strands, ready for the stretch¬ 
ing. Pilar’s pony and Ante were already on the far side of 
the fence. Dick stood ready to nail the staples. 

The old cowman nodded to Gerda. 

“Evening, ma’am. Reckoned I’d come out to see if Juan 
was ’tending proper to his fence riding. Dick tells me your 
outfit’s all off my range, and nary a stray-—not even them 
young renegades.” 

“No thanks to you, wishing that bunch on us,” said 
Welsh. 

Howbert’s bushy brows came down over his eyes. 

“I’ll ask you folks all to hop the fence. You, too, son. 
You’re a Kay Kay puncher now. Sorry to seem unhospital, 
Miss Gerdy, but I savvy the Welshes. If hell pops loose, 
I want it should be offen the Lazy S Bar. You and the little 
lady best jog on.” 

Welsh jumped his horse over the lower wires alongside 
Lobo. On the other side Gerda tried to crowd between him 
and the fence, but the roan scratched his leg on a barb and 
leaped clear. The glint in Welsh’s eyes gave open warning 
that he was looking for trouble. Tyrrel caught up Pilar 




Jacarillas Ear Mark 


87 


and tossed her upon the pony. 

“ Hit out,” he ordered. “ Give him the spur.” 

Pilar swung the pony around a narrow circle and halted 
beside the prancing Lobo. Though frightened, she had no 
more intention of running away than had Gei;da. 

All this passed unheeded by Welsh. His cold glance never 
for an instant flickered away from the cadaverous face of his 
old enemy. 

“Now,” he rasped, “this Kay Kay deal is clean settled. 
Our outfit is off the Lazy S Bar. I’m free to have my say. 
First, I’ll ask what sort of a rustling scheme you’ve cooked 
up with Tyrrel.” 

The old man looked at Gerda. 

“You heard me tell him before, ma’am, not to use no such 
aprobrous term regarding me. Won’t you pleasure us by 
adjourning with the little lady?” 

“Don’t worry about the girls,” rejoined Welsh. “You’re 
not going to muss me any, and they’ll not cry very hard over 
the shooting-up of an ornery old brand-blotter.” 

Howbert’s half-toothless mouth twisted in a grin. 

“ Take after your dad, huh? Well, I reckon you’re look¬ 
ing for what’s coming to you. Only it’s just what you say. 
I ain’t going to muss you up much. I’ll just put the Lazy 
S Bar notch where it belongs — in your left ear.” 

Welsh’s hand had been hovering near his hip. He jerked 
the big automatic pistol from its holster. Howbert drew 
and fired his old Colts with lightning swiftness. The pistol 
whirled down out of Welsh’s hand. Before it struck the dust, 
Howbert fired again. Welsh clapped his hand to his left 
ear. His face flamed with rage and shame. 

“You son of a-” 

The up-tilting muzzle of the Colts cut short the curse. 

“That’s it, sonny. You’re getting wised,” jeered the old 
gunman. “ If you don’t want t’other ear clipped clean off, 




88 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


just keep your ugly lip sewed up tight. You can thank your 
lucky stars they’s ladies present, else I’d clip it anyhow, and 
hair brand you, to boot. Now get to hell outer here.” 

Fortunately for Welsh, he knew better than to hesitate 
even for a moment. He whirled his horse and loped away. 

Tyrrel at once picked up the big pistol and handed it to 
Gerda. For the first time since she had known him his eyes 
were grave, though his lips smiled. 

“I suppose this ends it, Miss Keith. If it does — if I’m 
no longer a Kay Kay man, just have Cookie drop my bed¬ 
roll off the truck.” 

Gerda looked him up and down with her ever-ready scorn. 

“Want to quit, do you? Afraid Mat will take it out on 
you P ” 

“Well, I’m not so sure. Maybe, if I tried real hard, I 
might manage to get up nerve enough to chance his ire. Only 
thing, if you believe, as he does, that Mr. Howbert and I 
are up to any shady deal-” 

“You were hired for this drive. I take it you’re not a 
quitter.” 

Tyrrel shook hands with Howbert, nodded to the stolid 
Mexican, and swung upon Ante. The cowman lifted an em¬ 
barrassed glance to the girls. 

“Mighty sorry I had to smoke up Big Mat ’fore you 
ladies. I done my dam-durndest to dodge busting loose.* 

“Don’t mention it,” said Gerda. She gave the old man 
one of her rare smiles. “This pistol and your second shot-— 
they are double proofs. I owe a partner to your forbearance. 
You’re the quickest man on the draw I ever saw shoot.” 

“ Mat ain’t no slouch. But his dad was real quick. Just 
luck I got One-Gun both times. Your own dad wasn’t much 
with a six-shooter. He sure was all there, though, with a 
Winchester. Once sided him ’gainst a bunch of Apache 
renegades.” 




Jacarillas Ear Mark 


89 


“You did?” cried Gerda, her eyes glowing. 

“Yeppe. Mentioned it just so’s you know I ain’t got 
nothing ’gainst the Kay Kay, no matter what Big Mat says.” 

u In that case, Mr. Howbert, it’s only between you two. 
The Kay Kay will do its best to keep on the fence.” 

“ ’Bliged!” 

With a nod to Pilar and Tyrrel, the old man picked up 
his fence-rider’s hammer and started to drive staples. 

From the top of the ridge Pilar waved down to him. But 
he was still fastening the fence wires and failed to see her. 

As the three neared the rear of the herd, Welsh dropped 
back to meet them. The notch in his ear had been covered 
with surgeon’s plaster. He looked hard at Tyrrel. 

“ I’ve explained to the boys that I got hurt while the 
fence wire was being stretched.” 

“ That’s not stretching the facts very much, Mat,” replied 
Gerda. “We’ll all remember it that way.” 

She looked at Tyrrel and Pilar. Tyrrel smiled. 

“ Yes, ma’am. I never contradict a lady.” 



CHAPTER XI 


QUERIDO 

T HE remainder of the day’s trailing swung the herd close 
to the spurs of Jack’s Peak. From there the course 
veered around to the north side of the peak and up-creek. 
By the time the last bed ground below Gallinas was reached 
the herd was very well trail-broken. Only the bunch of wild 
steers remained fractious. Each morning Gerda had ridden 
ahead with Welsh, to line out the day’s drive and settle for 
passage across the ranges where payment was required. 

After supper in the camp near Gallinas, Welsh made a curt 
talk to the punchers. 

“Morning’ll bring us to our jumping-off place — four 
miles drift-grazing to our last water. From there we strike 
west across the railroad, south of the Sierra Gallinas, and 
head for the Chupadera Mesa. First water is down the far 
side of the mesa on the Kay Kay range. It’s going to be a 
mean drive. I figure it between fifty and sixty miles — all 
dry.” 

Old Jake grunted his contempt. 

“Huh! Fifty-sixty — mighty small bacon. When I was 
a kid, used to make the big drive to the Pecos on the old 
Texas trail — ninety miles — ninety , and dry as bone!” 

“But you drove Texas longhorns,” said Tyrrel—“rangy, 
long-legged cattle. These low-set Her’fords haven’t the 
stride.” 

Gerda cut in ahead of Welsh. 

“ I’ve laid it all out. We’ll night-trail.” 

“Sorry to differ,” said Welsh. “That would be a mis¬ 
take. The herd will do better if bedded down as usual. Too 

90 


Querido 


91 


much risk, night driving.” 

“Not if you sell that wild bunch or turn them adrift,” 
(Suggested Tyrrel. 

Welsh seized the opportunity for one of his frequent gibes. 

“ This isn’t dairy business, Colorow. When we want advice 
from farmers, we’ll ask for it.” 

“I’m asking now,” said Gerda. “What is it about that 
bunch, Dick?” 

“ Getting more restless every night. Last time we had to 
hog-tie the lot. They were stirring up the whole herd.” 

“You didn’t tell me about it,” rasped Welsh. 

! “ Thought I was hired to do the work of a puncher.” 

“He’s got you there, Mat!” Gerda stopped to chuckle. 
“ The drinks are on him, Dick. Come fhto Gallinas with us 
tomorrow. I’ll make him set up the pop.” 

“But about that wild bunch, Miss Keith?” 

The gray-green eyes glinted. 

“You’re as pertinacious as Mat! They’ll need no tying 
after tonight. End of next drive, they’ll be glad to lie down 
and stay down.” 

In the morning Welsh and Gerda for once lingered over 
breakfast with Pilar, while the herd grazed off on the extra 
slow drift to the last water. 

Tyrrel helped the fat cook load up the truck, which was 
to follow the riders into Gallinas for supplies. The work 
held him back after the others w T ere ready to start. Gerda 
was quick to divine Pilar’s reason for fussing with her cinch. 
She frowned, cast an impatient look at Tyrrel, and started 
off with the well-pleased Welsh. 

On the instant Tyrrel headed for Ante. But Pilar called 
to him in a half whisper : 

u Jf you wish, Don Bicardo, you may tie on my mask for 
me.” 

She had not used the face protector for the last two days, 






92 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


yet Tyrrel was not surprised. The one thing certain about 
her seemed to be that she could be counted upon to do the 
unexpected. As he took the mask he saw Gerda look around. 
He bent close over the shoulder of her cousin. 

Pilar smiled up at him sweetly and took off her dashing 
Gainsborough sombrero. Its high crown had barely allowed 
room for the high Spanish coiffure of her raven-black hair, 
topped with a Spanish comb of gold filigree. The mass of 
hair gave out a faint odor of orange blossoms. 

The delicious scent was more heady than a drink of mescal. 
Tyrrel felt an almost irresistible impulse to kiss the nape of 
the girl’s creamy, round neck. Yet he tied the strings of 
the mask with steady fingers. 

“Never saw two girls more unlike than you and Miss 
Keith, nina he remarked. “ No one would take you to be 
cousins.” 

“We’re not!” The girl spoke with sharp emphasis. 
“ She — and her brother — they’re not really first cousins 
to me. In blood they do not fully come within the forbidden 
degrees of the Church. My mother w r as only their half-aunt. 
Granddad Keith — old Kenneth Keith — had two wives.” 

“Two? Ah, lucky man — doubly blessed! One to mend 
his socks, and t’other to mend his ways.” 

“Don’t be silly.” The black eyes peeped over the rim of 
the mask in a glance of tender enticement. “ He took them 
in a series. My madre was the daughter of his second wife.” 

“Who was a daughter of Lilith — judging by present re¬ 
sults,” bantered Tyrrel. “ Or are all said results due to that 
Spanish blood of honey, fire and wine?” 

One little boot came down with a thud. 

“Oh, you bobo iceman! I could get more action out of a 
wooden Injin!” 

“Action, you say? ” Tyrrel made a long-armed sweep that 
tossed her up bodily into the saddle. “How’s that, jnia 



Querido 


93 


amega ? 99 

“ I’m not jour amega! We’re not friends at all. How 
dare you touch me ? ” 

Tyrrel swung onto Ante and started off beside the girl, his 
face long and a twinkle in his ruddy brown eyes. 

“My apologies, Miss Chavez! Back on the Lazy S Bar 
you said you liked me almost enough for a friend. Since 
then we’ve jogged down Life’s mysterious stream, cooing like 
two turtles on a log—I mean, bough. Have I mistaken a 
falcon for a dove?” 

He gazed pensively up at the hawks that dotted the morn¬ 
ing sky. 

“ The fierce falcon hovering to swoop .... and me, 
the poor helpless little prairie-doglet shivering in the dust! ” 

“Prairie rattler, you mean! Only you’re still more cold¬ 
blooded— like a fish — or a lobster!” 

Tyrrel’s mouth and eyes rounded in O’s of surprised 
admiration. 

“ Perfect metaphor — perfect! They say lobsters are green 
until scalded — all the same as this one. See me blush scarlet. 
Worst of it is, lobster is apt to disagree with you.” 

Pilar’s petulance could not resist this good-humored non¬ 
sense. 

“ Oh, Dick! I’m a cat. But if only you realized! It’s — 
it’s so poky. You know how wild Mat is over Gerda. He’ll 
not even look sideways at me. Cookie’s too fat, and Jake 
and Gailor too old. The other punchers — that brute Butch, 
and coyote Redeye and snaky Slim — they’re simply horrid. 
That leaves only you.” 

“For fun, then,” agreed Tyrrel. “Not for keeps, though, 
remember. You can fire when you’re ready, Gridley.” 

“Mil grarias, campeador mio! Ah , querido , dulcisimo, 
Karisimo ! 99 

“ Encore — encore! Sounds like Geraldine in Carmen when 



94 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


she hits into fortissimo” applauded Tyrrel. “You have a 
peachy voice when you sugar it, child — I mean, Elberta.” 

Pilar laughed outright, and gave up her futile coquetry. 
She pulled off her mask, to chat and joke in their chummy 
offhand manner of the last few days. But until they reached 
Gallinas she contrived to keep their horses lagging out of 
earshot of Gerda and Welsh. 

As the four cantered into the little town on the railroad, 
a man in a big Mexican sombrero stepped out from under 
the arcade of an adobe house, almost within arm’s-reach of 
Gerda. Pilar’s shriek of delight brought all the party to 
a sudden halt. Under the uptilting brim of the sombrero 
Tyrrel made out the genial mouth and shell-rimmed spectacles 
of Donald Keith. 

Though first to recognize him, Pilar did not hasten to 
dismount. Gerda had flung her reins over Lobo’s head and 
jumped off, all in the same second. She gripped her brother’s 
hand and hastened to push him back into the cool shade of 
the arcade. 

Welsh followed and shook the hand of his partner no less 
heartily. 

“ Well, well, old man! Where’d you drop from? ” he asked. 

“Drove the car home and came back around by rail,” 
replied Keith. “Bought a keg of sour pickles and half a 
case of lemons to cut the alkali for you. Rather thought 
you’d show up some time today. Buenos dias, nina! You 
look fit as a fiddle and two shades more Spanish. My eye, 
what’s that dazzle on Lobo, Gerd? You bought the contest 
saddle!” 

“ Tried to, Donnie. But Dick would not sell. I found 
it cinched on Lobo, morning we started.” 

Keith shot a shrewd glance at Tyrrel’s grave face. 

“I see, young man. Made a killing on your deal, eh?” 

Pilar had not yet dismounted. She sat staring down into 



Querido 


95 


the shaded arcade, her pretty lips tense, her black eyes 
somber. 

“ You’ve no call to sneer at Dick, Don Senor she said. 
“ He received little enough for giving the Kay Kay a grand 
bargain. Wait till you hear about the killing that Mat 
tried to make.” 

“What’s that? Another deal?” 

“ Return bill on an old one of Mat’s,” explained Gerda. 
“Our feeders bear the Lazy S Bar.” 

“Old Hack How’s brand!” 

“Yes, and we found them at home with Jacarilla. Give 
the devil his due. The old rustler acted white. Joke is, 
we all rubbed stirrups with him at the rodeo and didn’t know 
it. He was that hoary-headed patriarch who braced Dick up 
after the riding. Same who cashed in on the neat bet with 
Mat. After closing the deal, we had a last meeting with 
him as we left his range.” 

Keith peered inquiringly at Welsh. The third partner of 
the Kay Kay was still wearing surgeon’s plaster on his left 
ear. The sudden reddening of the ear made the white patch 
stand out by contrast. In the constrained silence, Pilar’s 
sweet half whisper to Tyrrel was heard by all. 

“ I wait for you to help me down, Ricardo querido.” 

Strange to say, the girl had not yet explained to Tyrrel 
the meaning of the Spanish term for “beloved.” But the 
startled, resentful looks of Gerda and her brother told him 
that querido had more than an indifferent significance. He 
flushed as the girl slipped down into his arms, one little gloved 
hand half clasping his neck. 

Welsh scowled. Keith took off his hat to wipe his bald 
head with an unsteady hand. His sister gripped the younger 
girl’s shoulder and shook her as if she were a naughty infant. 

“For shame! You romantic little fool! Can’t you re¬ 
member you’re half Keith in blood, if not in nature? Try 



96 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


to forget the greaser taint-” 

Pilar’s hand darted to her bosom. It snatched out a tiny 
old crucifix-handled dagger. No less swiftly, Gerda’s hand 
clutched the plump little wrist. 

“ You wildcat kitten! Scratch, would you? Put it back, 
or I’ll spank you, right here and now.” 

The down-forced little hand replaced the stiletto in its 
hidden sheath. With a disdainful smile, Gerda released her 
iron grip. Pilar stood very still, the pupils of her eyes 
dilating with horror. 

“ Ave, Maria, salvar nos! What would I have done? You 
drive me frantic! To say such things — when you know my 
padre came of the oldest families — of purest Castilian 
descent! If you continue to mock at him and me, I will kill 
myself! ” 

“ Cut the melodrama, you silly little —” Over the younger 
girl’s head Gerda’s lifting glance met the intent gaze of 
Tyrrel. She hesitated, looked down again at her overwrought 
cousin, and burst into irritable apology: 

“You know I was born with my temper, nina, just as you 
were with your coquetry. If only you’d quit riling me! I 
know you’re not a bad girl, chiquita. It’s only that you like 
to play the baby vamp. You don’t realize how it looks to 
others.” 

“You — you are angry because Dick-” 

“Not at all. It’s yourself, nina. As for your padre, I’ve 
been wrong all along. I can’t help being dad’s daughter. 
Sheep and all things Mex go against my grain. I hate 
both — like him. Just the same, I own up now that your 
padre was not a greaser. He was a gentleman and a white 
man. You have a right to be proud of all your blood.” 

Tears gushed into Pilar’s eyes. In a twinkling Keith had 
hold of her hand and was dusting the back of her scarlet 
blouse with fatherly thumps. She hid her face against his 





Querido 


97 


shirt front and wept while the others looked on in abashed 
silence. She was so young and small — so like a grieved little 
child. Even Welsh’s harsh face softened with concern. 

Under Keith’s petting, the girl quickly cried herself out. 
She stifled her sobs and drew back to smile up into the face 
of her guardian, her eyes still glistening with tears. 

“Ah, Don Senor! Whatever would I do without my good 
old dueno? ” 

Her little hands thrust up to grasp the fringe of sandy 
hair above each of his ears. She drew his head down and 
pressed a fervent kiss upon its shiny white top. The white 
suddenly went pink. He jerked back out of the girl’s grasp 
and, under pretext of adjusting his spectacles, put up both 
hands to hide his flushed face. 

Pilar shrank aside, cut to the quick by his brusque repul¬ 
sion. But he was too intent upon covering his own hurt and 
confusion to heed hers. He spoke to his sister. 

“You — those feeders — came up to representation, did 
they ? ” 

“All prime year-and-a-half calves, Donnie, and we’ve 
brought them through so far all right.” 

“ But she insists on night-driving the dry trail,” said 
Welsh. “ Back me up, Don. Day trailing will be safer.” 

“We might drive the first night, Mat. Then go by re¬ 
sults.” 

Pilar forgot her pique to flash a glance at her guardian’s 
boots, overalls and leather vest. 

“Oh! You’ve come to trail along with us!” 

“If Tyrrel will oblige me by fetching my horse from the 
corral. The supplies are here.” 

As Tyrrel rode off, both Lobo and Pilar’s horse swung 
around, eager to follow him. 

“Look there. Do you wonder I’m so fond of Dick?” 
murmured the girl. “ Every horse he handles wants to tag 



98 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


him about, even that locoed devil of Gerda’s.” 

Keith forced a chuckle that lacked his usual geniality. 

“A born gentler, eh? Let us hope he doesn’t put the 
same com’ither on you girls.” 

“With you along, Don, we can give one of the punchers 
his time,” Welsh hastened to put in a stroke. “Why not 
fire this fellow! ” 

“Why him in particular?” asked Gerda. 

She looked at Welsh with a smile that seemed to carry a 
dare. His thin lips tightened. 

“Happens, I don’t like the cut of his ears.” 

Involuntarily the glances of Keith and the girls flicked 
towards the patch on the speaker’s left ear. He flushed a 
deep beet red. With mingled generosity and strategy, Gerda 
diverted attention from the subject of ears with a flank 
attack. 

“Trouble with you, Mat, you can’t forget he out-roped 
and out-rode you. Well, I hired the boy. He’s top-hand of 
this drive, and he sticks. Savvy?” 

“You have no need to use that tone, Gerda,” protested her 
brother. “ Mat is not a hand. He’s one of the heads-—” 

“ But I’m top-head for this drive, Donnie, and you both 
know it. This is my deal. I started it. I’m going to boss 
till the steers are on our range.” 

Both men figuratively threw up their hands. They knew 
the temper of their lady partner. 

By the time Tyrrel returned with the led-horse, the truck 
was chugging into town. Lemons, pickles and all the other 
supplies were loaded in, along with Keith’s bed-roll. Followed 
by the truck, the five riders headed aslant country, toward 
the herd’s last watering place. 

At the start Tyrrel quietly fell in behind the others. But 
Pilar immediately stopped her horse until Ante came up along¬ 
side. After a short talk with his partners about business, 




Querido 


99 


Keith dropped back to ask Pilar how she had enjoyed the 
trip. 

Again Tyrrel fell to the rear. He was only a puncher 
hired for the drive. 44 Two’s company, and three’s a crowd.” 
As he murmured the old saying, Gerda deliberately swung 
around to side him. 

44 Tell me something pleasant,” she ordered. 44 Mat is set 
against night-trailing, and hasn’t sense enough to chop off. 
He’s a cowman right, but stubborn as a — as I am. Only, 
with me, it’s proper firm-mindedness.” 

“Want my opinion?” asked Tyrrel. 

44 Yes.” 

44 Well, maybe you’ll agree with me in principle, if not in 
practice. Women should boss indoors, and men outdoors.” 

“Old stuff, Dick, that 4 hand that rocks the cradle rules 
the world.’ Excuse me. I’m an outdoors woman.” 

Tyrrel studied with quiet appraisal her strong, graceful 
figure, her rich color and firm, finely moulded features, all 
radiant with life and energy. 

44 You are more than an outdoors woman, Miss Keith,” he 
said. 44 You are a superbly beautiful girl.” 

44 Flattery’s a poor compliment, cowboy.” 

44 You asked me to say something pleasant. It’s one case 
where I can do so, yet tell the truth.” 

44 Is this the way you’ve turned Pilar’s silly little head?” 

“Sabe Dios. I’m a big, bold, bad man. How can I help 
being adored by all the ladies?” 

Gerda did not laugh. She appraised him in turn, staring 
intently at his solemn face and humorous eyes. 

44 What I want to know, Dick, is how you do your gentling. 
I saw Lobo nuzzle you, yesterday. He’d bite a piece out of 
me ’most any time, if I’d let him.” 

The twinkle left Tyrrel’s eyes. He shook his head per¬ 
plexedly. 



100 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“ Search me! I never scratch a horse unless I have to. 
Maybe they sense that. You ought to know. I’ve heard that 
women are like horses.” 

This time Gerda frowned. 

“ Is that so? Well, don’t forget that some horses are 
outlaws.” 

66 Yessum. I know. Hear me brag how I rode Still Hell. 
I might do it again, but I’d rather not have to.” 

The girl’s frown deepened. Had this remark any connec¬ 
tion with his opinion on bosses ? 

Tyrrel smiled and swayed to the swerve of Ante around a 
prickly pear cactus. He jerked his gloved thumb at the big 
needle-bristling leaf-pads. 

“ Don’t you agree it’s a mistake making pincushions inside 
out ? ” 

Gerda’s reply was to jab her spurs into Lobo. Outraged^ 
yet held from bolting by her grip on the cruel Spanish bit, 
the thoroughbred went plunging and side-jumping past Keith 
and Pilar. His rider pulled him down to a walk alongside 
the morose-eyed Welsh. 



CHAPTER XII 


IN BAD 

D URING the midday siesta Donald Keith talked with 
lame Jake about the ways of the old Texas trails. 
He was neither imperious, like his sister, nor harsh, like 
Welsh. With genial patience he listened to the old wrangler’s 
garrulous history of notable drives and to his patronizing 
advice. 

As a result, the senior partner of the Kay Kay learned 
several facts that confirmed him in his backing of Gerda. 
He cited them to Welsh, winding up with what he considered 
the most important. 

“ It will not be a blind drive, Mat. We’ll have a three- 
quarter moon. That meets your argument that the herd 
may get scattered in the dark.” 

“Moon nothing — up among the pinons and cedars on the 
Chupadera,” muttered Welsh, still tight-jawed on his opposi¬ 
tion. 

“We don’t have to jump that gully till we come to it,” 
said Gerda. “ Cinch up. There go the bunch of wild ones. 
All tanked up, are you, Cookie?” 

“ Full to the bung and slopping over, Miss Gerdy — bar¬ 
rels, canteens, kettles — everything with a cork or cover. I 
ain’t taking no chances. Got caught dry, once, down in 
Death Valley. Would’ve cashed in, only it was so blasted 
hot it melted my hydrycarbon fats — burnt up the carbon 
fat and left me the hydry-water. Leastways that’s how them 
U. S. science sharps diagnosed my survival.” 

Tyrrel, who had helped in the filling of the tanks, dropped 
his empty buckets with a clatter. 

101 


102 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“Where’s my notebook? I’ve looked into irrigation, but 
never saw mention of that source of water supply.” 

“Pity it won’t work in the Tabru country,” said Gerda. 
“Can’t you see our feeders, Donnie, dewlap-deep in that 
mesquite grass!” 

“ Sorry, but I can’t see them in any grass, next month, 
if the rains are late,” replied her brother. 

It was his first and last allusion to his original stand 
against the deal. He checked Pilar’s movement towards 
Tyrrel with a rather curt order for her to wait while he 
fetched her pony. She pouted but obeyed. 

By now the herd had all risen and started to follow the 
westward drift of their leaders, the seven wild steers. Soon 
all were strung out in the usual half-mile column. The rest¬ 
less leaders quickened their shuffle to a brisk trail gait. Herd 
and riders and following cavvy and chuck-truck drew clear 
from the big cottonwoods of the last water and wound away 
over the dreary, close-grazed range. 

The vivid live green of the waterside growths soon drifted 
to the rear. To the northwest the cedar-clad spurs of the 
Sierra Gallinas stood out against the turquoise sky. Far 
ahead the heat-wavering horizon showed a blurred dark line 
that might have been either a mirage or the pine-darkened 
top of the Chupadera Mesa. 

All else was semi-desert — a vast dry plain, scattered over 
with yuccas and prickly pears, greasewood and staghorn 
cactus. Whether to regard it as an abomination of desola¬ 
tion or a masterpiece of wondrous tints and heavenly light, 
all depended upon the digestion and mood of the beholder. 

Tyrrel’s eye was more that of an impressionist than of 
a realist. He knew that the cactus thorns were needle-sharp 
and charged with poison, but he saw only the fierce beauty 
of their clusterings. He knew that the landscape was arid 
range that had been badly overstocked. But he sensed the 



In Bad 


103 


symphony of tawns and duns and grays, transmuted by the 
down-pourings of dry light into an ethereal expanse of soft 
pure color, without weight or substance — almost without 
form. 

The long column of rider-flanked steers clattered across 
the steel strings of the railroad and shuffled on westward at 
a half trot. The foremost animals stood out against the 
barren ground, clear red and white under the intense blue 
of the sky. Behind them rose a haze from the dust stirred 
up by the scuffling hoofs. Still farther back the dust 
thickened into a gray cloud that hung over and veiled all 
the rear of the herd. 

Hour after hour the fierce sun burned its way down the 
cloudless western sky. And hour after hour herd and riders, 
cavvy and chuck-truck, trailed westward across the semi- 
desert. The fiery disc of molten steel sagged low upon the 
black line of the horizon. All the dusty column drove on¬ 
wards, straight into the crimsoning dazzle of the sunset. 

The red glare in the west died out. But before the short 
twilight faded, the moon slipped up over the desolate eastern 
plains, blotched and distorted and yellow as a pumpkin. 
Tyrrel remarked that it was like a mule-kicked full-cream 
cheese rubbed with phosphorus. 

Some of the steers began to drag. Even the foremost 
slackened their pace. It was the usual hour for bedding 
down. But the cowboy pointers did not stop the leaders. 
They rode steadily onwards. Behind them, all the way back 
along the column, the swing riders urged the lagging herd 
into renewed briskness. 

Cookie had driven ahead. As the drive neared his glow¬ 
ing little fire of cow chips, the punchers took turns racing 
to bolt their supper of coffee, ham and hot bread. Gerda 
and Keith came last with Pilar. Both urged their cousin 
to snuggle in among the bed-rolls on the truck and get a good 



104 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


night’s sleep. But she was no less determined than Gerda 
to take part in the night drive. 

Long before midnight the girl regretted her refusal of 
the bed. After the first novelty of riding in the moonlight 
had worn off, the going became very monotonous. The weird 
black shadows soon lost their interest, and the chill of the 
night air made her shiver. Keith and Tyrrel were riding as 
pointers. Gerda opposed her joining them, yet gave her no 
chance to share Welsh’s talk. 

Too proud to take to the truck, Pilar trailed behind in 
the dust. The endless procession of cactus and yuccas drift¬ 
ing past in the moonlight, threw her into a hypnotic doze. 
There was no excitement to rouse her. Hour after hour, the 
half-mile column of steers shuffled along over the arid high 
plains, flanked by the silent riders. 

Daybreak found the outfit on range not so badly over- 
grazed as back near Gallinas. The herd was allowed to 
scatter and graze while the riders gathered for breakfast. 
The rays of the rising sun brought out clearly the miniature 
bristle of pines on the distant western horizon. 

“The Chupadera,” said Gerda. “We’ll make it by sun¬ 
down.” 

“Then what?” demanded Welsh. 

She smiled at her young cousin. 

“A chance, Mat, for us all to bed down and catch up on 
our beauty sleep. You don’t suppose I’ve been fool enough 
to plan on trailing the herd through the cedars at night. 
Own up, though. We were wise to drive this first night.” 

“We happened to have luck,” said Welsh. 

The good luck continued throughout that day. Made 
thirsty by the night drive, the herd grazed less than usual 
and started off briskly on the way to their customary water¬ 
ing. At the noon halt, finding no water, they remained rest¬ 
less during the two-hour siesta through the heat of midday. 



In Bad 


105 


In the afternoon drive the drags, or weaker animals, had 
to be urged to keep up with the herd. But sunset brought 
all over the outlying ridges to the foot of the somber mesa. 
The herd was bedded down midway across the sandy valley 
that extended northwards, like a great trough, between the 
mesa and the outer ridges. 

Had there been water, the country would have made a 
perfect range. The brown, sun-cured hay of grama grass 
stood knee-high over all the valley bottom and ridge slopes. 
But the steers lay down in the midst of the abundant forage, 
' too thirsty to munch the rich but dry stalks. As Gerda had 
predicted, after the night and day drive even the bunch of 
renegades were quite willing to rest. 

No less weary, all the outfit except Jake and the first 
relief of the night guard made ready to roll into their 
blankets immediately after supper. Keith checked them with 
one of his quiet, unassertive orders : 

“Hold on, boys. I’ll ask everyone to fill his canteen. 
Cookie says the night tank is empty. There’s enough water 
left in the other to go around, and a little over. So don’t 
run dry, but be sparing.” 

Butch muttered something about a willingness to swap all 
his share of water for a quart of bootleg. As he waddled 
off to his bed-roll with the wolfish Redeye, Keith spoke in an 
undertone to Welsh. 

“ How did you happen to draw those buckaroos, Mat — 
and the one called Slim? Three of a kind!” 

“Well, three of a kind beats two pairs,” replied Welsh. 
“ The boys might be worse — and their dads were all on the 
right side during the Lincoln County war. Good thing I 
picked them up. Their being along is probably what has 
headed off Hack How from trying to put over the funny 
business he had all cooked up with that fellow Tyrrel.” 

“Tyrrel? How you must love the boy! You slam him 



106 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


every time he is mentioned.” 

“ What else can you expect, Donnie? ” said Gerda. “ Dick 
put it all over Mat at the rodeo.” 

“ Not all,” denied Welsh. “ I beat him in the bulldogging. 
Before I get through, I’ll bulldog him.” 

Gerda smiled provokingly. 

“ You will if you can. Go to it. May the best man win.” 

“I’ll win you!” promised Welsh, his jaw like a steel vise. 

She laughed and went to join Pilar in the little tent. 

Tyrrel heard nothing of this. He already lay deep in 
dreamless slumber. He was on the third relief, and wished 
to get his full share of sleep before being called by old Jake. 

When he closed his eyes the stars were beginning to glint 
palely in the darkening blue of the cloudless sky. Hours 
later he roused out of heavy slumber to sudden consciousness. 
In his ears still echoed a deep low rumble. He peered around. 
North, south, east, overhead — the sky was frosted with stars. 
But westward, above the mesa, hung a black pall. 

The border of the clouds was sweeping swiftly forward, 
blanketing the stars. Down aslant the blackness stabbed 
a zigzag of blue-w r hite fire. Again Tyrrel’s ears reverberated 
with the heavy rumble of distant thunder. A night storm! 

Tyrrel sprang up. He was half way to the cavvy before 
Welsh’s bull voice began to blare orders for all riders to turn 
out. As Ante came to the call of his master, Tyrrel became 
aware of Gerda at his elbow. 

“ Can you make out my roan ? ” she asked. 

“No need }mur riding, Miss Gerda. We men can handle 
the herd. Better go back and get a good sleep.” 

“ I’m not here to argue. That locoed roan is apt to go 
clean off his head in a thunderstorm.” 

Her rope was already in Tyrrel’s hand. He snaked the 
thoroughbred out of the midst of the cavvy. 

“Thanks. I can manage now,” said Gerda. “Go on. 




In Bad 


107 


You’ll be needed.” 

A blinding flash, followed in two seconds by a booming 
roll of thunder, gave emphasis to the statement. Rapidly 
as Tyrrel cinched on his saddle and rode to the bedding 
ground, he joined the pair of night guards none too soon. 
The storm was swooping down from the summit of the mesa. 

Startled by the thunder and lightning, the herd had begun 
to heave up. Tyrrel was just in time to head off a rush of 
steers led by the seven troublesome renegades. They whirled 
and ran straight back through the midst of the herd, gather¬ 
ing scores of recruits to their panic. Butch and Slim barely 
succeeded in stopping them at the far side. They wheeled 
about again and dashed towards Tyrrel, this time followed 
by hundreds of frightened animals. 

Still more swiftly, the storm swirled down into the valley, 
its blackness meshed with a dazzling network of lightning 
flashes. The peals of thunder thickened into a continuous 
crashing din. Thunderbolts began to strike the iron-veined 
limestone crests of the nearby ridge spurs. 

Barely in time, Welsh and Gerda and Redeye came racing 
to help Tyrrel check the starting stampede. The girl’s cry 
rang clear through the thunder, above the bellowing of the 
herd- 

“ To the left! Mill them! Mill them to the left! ” 

All rode aslant at the leaders of the rush. They crowded 
up alongside the panic-stricken beasts, yelling and waving 
slickers. The steers shied off to the left. They kept veering 
as the riders raced on with them. 

The remaining men of the outfit, including even the fat 
cook, arrived at a gallop and strung in behind. Instead of 
bolting off in a straight line, the van of the herd kept circling, 
away from the riders. The following mob of maddened beasts 
veered around after their leaders. 

Rain began to slash down out of the lightning-ripped pall, 




108 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


every drop a liquid bullet of ice water. The air was sur¬ 
charged with electricity. All around, static burst out in 
weird flare and crackle — on the horns of the cattle, on the 
ears of the horses, on the hat peaks of the riders, on their 
waving slickers. But the circle of the turning herd leaders 
had been narrowed. It curved in still more. The whole herd 
merged into a solid milling mass. 



CHAPTER XIII 


FOR LIFE -FOR LOVE 

F OR a time Tyrrel felt sure the herd was safe. Spaced at 
equal distances from each other, the riders raced round 
and round the milling beasts, heading back all that attempted 
to bolt from the mass, and keeping the outer ones deluded 
with the belief that they were running away. 

In any storm that Tyrrel had ever before experienced, the 
herd could have been held. But never had he known such a 
terrific electrical outburst. The static charge bristled his 
hair and tingled his nerves like prickling needles; his ears 
were deafened by the crashing shocks of thunder; the con¬ 
tinuous flare of the lightning dazzled and half-blinded him. 

Like Gerda and all the others, he gave no heed to the icy 
drench of the hard-driven rain. Slickers were of more service 
flaunted and waved in the wild eyes of the frantic steers. 
Three times he galloped Ante around the herd, yelling at the 
top of his lungs. 

A few yards ahead of him raced Gerda. Not one of all 
the men showed more skill or courage than the girl who sat 
so firmly in her silver saddle on the fear-maddened thorough¬ 
bred. The same distance behind Tyrrel came Welsh, trying 
his best to out-bellow steers and thunder alike. Keith and 
the three Lincoln County punchers, the old horse wranglers 
and Cookie completed the swiftly revolving ring of horses 
and men. 

For the full first three times of circling, the riders held 
the terror-stricken mob of steers. Given fair chance, they 
might have continued to hold the herd safe through all the 
furious uproar of the storm. But as Tyrrel swirled into the 

109 


110 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


beginning of his fourth circle a bolt of blinding white flame 
crashed down into the midst of the steers near him. The 
flare and detonation were so frightful that he reeled in his 
saddle. 

Sight was the first sense to return to him. Close on his 
left he saw the herd surging, wave-like, away from the three 
steers that had been struck down by the thunderbolt. Not 
even a hundred riders could have held back the now absolutely 
frenzied beasts. Tyrrel caught sight of Gerda sprinting 
towards the camp. 

The rush of the stampede had already closed about Ante. 
Tyrrel’s spurs sent the gray plunging ahead. He burst clear 
of the wild mob. Tyrrel instantly veered him to the left, 
to angle across the face of the stampede. In desperate effort 
to turn the leaders, he whipped out his pistol and began to 
fire. One of that troublesome bunch of renegades dropped -— 
another — a third .... three down in six shots! 

Something seared across Tyrrel’s cheek like a red-hot 
branding-iron. Over his shoulder he glimpsed the out-thrust 
pistol of Welsh. The man was shooting at him! He ducked 
down in his saddle and swerved Ante to run straight ahead 
of the stampede. 

A new impulse jabbed his spurs again hard into Ante’s 
flanks. The truck stood tail-on to the stampede. It would 
divide the torrent of steers like a rock in mid-stream. But 
what if Pilar had not left the shelter of the little tent? 

Through the rain-blurred lightning glare he dashed at top 
speed. A figure swirled across, close in front of Ante’s big 
nose — Gerda on the maddened, sideward leaping Lobo. The 
thoroughbred was clear out of control, as frantic as the 
steers. Tyrrel caught a glimpse of the girl’s fear-distorted 
face. Her dread was not for herself. Her lips parted to 
scream to him. As Lobo whirled her away, he heard, or 
thought he heard, the words of her cry: 



For Life — For Love 


111 


“ Pilar! Save-” 

What better proof of her high spirit could he have asked! 
Even at that moment of terror, in danger of death from 
thunderbolts or the trampling hoofs of the herd, she had 
proved her gameness. Her one thought had been for the 
safety of her cousin — the girl she did not like. 

Hardly had the realization flashed upon Tyrrel, when the 
tent appeared only a few feet ahead. He leaped from his 
saddle with a flying dismount, and was beside the tent while 
Ante still slithered on the drenched grass. No time to unlace 
lashings. He ripped up the whole front of the tent. 

Wakened by the storm, Pilar had turned out, only to 
creep back and huddle among her blankets. With one sweep 
of his long arms, Tyrrel wrapped his slicker around the 
trembling girl and flung her across his shoulder. He whirled 
to mount. The foremost steers of the stampede were almost 
upon him — frantic-running, wild-eyed, bellowing maniacs, 
backed by the living avalanche of their fellows. 

The slightest slip or falter would have meant certain death. 
Even with the utmost of Tyrrel-’s quickness, it was a mat¬ 
ter of split seconds. As he jumped into the saddle, Ante 
leaped — with the snout of the nearest steer hard-pressed 
against his rat tail. 

Had the steers been Texas longhorns, horse and rider and 
girl must have been run down and trampled under the thou¬ 
sands of hoofs. The short-legged Herefords were hard 
enough to escape. The handicap of his standing start gave 
Ante all he could do to outleap the red torrent. 

But half a dozen jumps got the big gray under full way. 
He forged out ahead of the frantic steers. Tyrrel swallowed 
his heart and remembered Pilar. The girl’s arms were locked 
about his neck in a terrified clutch. He gave Ante his head, 
eased his convulsive grasp of Pilar’s soft little body, and drew 
loose her arms from his neck. 




112 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“ Let go,” he shouted above the uproar of the storm and 
the bellowing of the frenzied steers. “ It’s all right now. 
Trust Ante.” 

But over his shoulder the lightning glare showed the girl 
the close-following hundreds of maddened beasts. Her arms 
again clutched his neck. She cowered down with her face 
tight against his rain-drenched breast. Panic is beyond all 
reason. Tyrrel turned his attention to their surroundings. 

They were running in a northerly direction, between the 
mesa and the outlying ridges. The valley had narrowed. 
Close on the right and left, thunderbolts were striking the 
iron-veined rocks. The storm was still at its height. Glanc¬ 
ing back, Tyrrel saw that the stampede had spread out in 
a wide flood. 

“We’d better not try to side-step. Might get jammed 
against a hill spur,” he spoke into the terror-deafened little 
ear of Pilar. “Best to jog on. That’ll land us where we 
can do the most good when those wild and woolly ones run 
themselves to a stand. Rest of the outfit will follow.” 

Through the veiling sheet of rain he saw a wash close 
ahead. He barely had time to brace himself for Ante’s leap 
down the four-foot drop-off. They climbed the far bank of 
the broad, shallow arroyo as the stampede poured in after 
them. 

For an hour or more the storm raged with little lessening 
of its fury, driving the herd on and on in panic-stricken 
frenzy. Fortunately for Tyrrel and Pilar, no less than for 
the terror-maddened beasts, no deep arroyo crossed the course 
of their flight. 

At last the violence of the storm began to abate. The 
crackling and flaring of static already had ceased. Moments 
of utter blackness began to blot out ridges and valley 
bottom between the white glare of the lightning flashes. At 
more and more frequent intervals the thunder lulled from its 



For Life — For Love 


113 


crashing shocks. The rain thinned into a drizzle. The flight 
had reached the north border of the storm. Yet still the herd 
galloped on in its frantic stampede. 

For a time the occasional flashes lighted the country ahead 
for Tyrrel. Then, at last, even the glimmer of sheet lightning 
ceased. He had to trust to luck and the instinct of Ante. 
They kept on into the black night; for behind them thudded 
all those thousands of hoofs. The drizzle ended, but the sky 
remained overcast. Neither moon nor stars glimmered 
through the clouds to lessen the inky darkness. 

Another hour at least of blind riding passed before Tyrrel’s 
anxious ear caught a lull in the uproar of the herd. The 
steers had ceased to bellow. A few were bawling. Tired out 
by their long run and the deep sand of the bottom land, 
many had begun to lag behind. Even the strong ones in the 
lead were slackening from frantic run into shambling trot. 
Longhorns probably would have run on until morning. The 
heavy-set, short-legged Herefords had already spent them¬ 
selves. A little more, and even the leaders came ta a stand. 
The stampede was ended. 

Tyrrel pulled in the now jogging Ante to a walk and 
turned to the left. Before long they struck rising ground — a 
ridge slope. Pilar was shivering, as much from the reaction 
after her fright as from the chill of the cold rain that had 
found more than one opening in Tyrrel’s slicker. 

“Only a short while now, little girl,” Tyrrel sought to 
cheer her. “We’ll soon have a blaze.” 

He felt the scour of juniper tips against his chaps. Here 
was possible firewood. He swung out of his saddle. Pilar 
could not stand without support. A touch of his bared 
fingers showed him that the hillside was dry. Not a drop 
of rain had fallen here. He eased the girl to the ground and 
felt around for wood. 

In a few moments he had a fire of juniper sticks blazing 



114 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


merrily. Pilar crept close alongside the flames to toast her 
absurdly small stockinged feet. Miles away, back at the 
camp, her boots lay trampled to pulp in the mire, along 
with her hat and blankets and the tent. 

As the fire dried her wet clothes and warmed her chilled 
body she gazed up at Tyrrel, for once without a trace of 
coquetry. 

“You saved me from those frightful hoofs!” 

“ The pleasure is mine, Miss Chavez.” 

“Don’t joke, Dick! I mean it. Don will feel the same. 
If he doesn’t, I’ll make him!” 

Tyrrel smiled at her fierce emphasis. 

“ Strikes me, it’s Ante who’s in order for the vote of 
thanks.” 

Pilar glanced around at the horse. He stood nearby in 
the fire-glow. Past his sagging head she saw his forelegs 
and chest all bristling with staghorn cactus. 

“ Oh! ” she cried. “ Poor old fellow! ” 

“ Hard lines ! ” said Tyrrel. “ I’ve known better country 
for joy-riding on a dark night.” 

After lighting a new and larger fire in the top of a dead 
juniper, he opened his knife and started to pry loose from 
Ante’s skin the joints of brittle cactus stalk. Removal of 
the poisonous spines was very painful. The horse quivered 
and snorted. But between times he nuzzled the shoulder of 
his master. 

The upblazing juniper branches did more than give light 
for Tyrrel’s work. The small fire would have served that 
purpose quite as well. But the tree top flared high, a flaming 
red beacon in the black night. 

Within the half hour Tyrrel heard a dull thudding of 
hoofs down in the sand of the valley. The gallop eased to 
a jog on the hill slope. Gerda rode into the wide circle of 
the fire-glow on her panting, lather-streaked thoroughbred. 



For Life — For Love 


115 


As she swung to the ground she caught sight of Pilar, sitting 
up from her cozy nest in the grass. 

“Thank God!” she cried. “My locoed fool of a horse 
bolted. But you, Dick, I might have known you’d make 
good!” 

Tyrrel met the manlike grip of her hand with a good- 
natured smile. 

“You’re soaking wet,” he said. “Get near the fire while 
I see to your roan. He’s worse stuck up than Ante.” 

“ Better shy clear of the crazy devil — or else hog-tie and 
muzzle him. He’ll bite your head off.” 

“I’m not so sure of that,” replied Tyrrel. 

He reached up to stroke Lobo’s trumpet-nostriled muzzle. 
Instead of biting him, the thoroughbred nuzzled his hand. 
When Tyrrel jerked out one of the cruel joints of cactus, 
the tortured horse squealed and struck viciously with his front 
feet. Tyrrel deftly side-stepped and worked forward again, 
stroking the roan’s lathered shoulder and neck. 

He tore loose another chunk of the wicked barbed needles. 
This time Lobo snorted and jumped but did not strike. 
Again Tyrrel gentled him w r ith caressing hands on his neck 
and starred forehead and velvety muzzle. Before he had 
finished jerking out the worst of the venomous spines, the 
thoroughbred was standing almost as still as had Ante. 

Pilar, exhausted from her fright and the wetting, had 
cuddled down and fallen asleep. But Gerda still stood before 
the fire, gazing at Tyrrel and Lobo. Her wondering eyes 
glistened with an odd softness. 

“How do you do it, Dick?” she asked. “One smash into 
buckhorn cactus will madden a steer. Lobo is bad enough 
at best-” 

“ I’ve known worse horses,” broke in Tyrrel. “ He’s not 
really crazy. It’s just temper and nerves. He knows I’m 
a friend — that I’m only helping him get rid of these damnable 




116 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


poison barbs.” 

Gerda’s voice sank to a half whisper. 

“ Don Quijote de la Mancha! I believe you could have 
gentled Still Hell!” 

“Maybe. I’m not sure. Some outlaws are real devils or 
altogether crazy. Anyway, I had to bust that bad one. A 
gentled horse can’t buck you into silver saddles and prize 
money.” 

“Why were you so keen for the money, Dick? You didn’t 
ride for glory, judging by the way you shoved the saddle 
off on me.” 

Tyrrel pointed at the moon, which now came peering like 
a blue-white ghost through the broken clouds. 

“Behold, fair maiden, the pale glamor of glory. It cuts 
no ice. It raises neither cash nor blisters on the cast-iron 
face of circumstances. Even as the flowers that bloom in 
the spring, it fadeth away like the tracks of a cowless broncho 
buster in the sands of a cow queen’s recollections.” 

“ If that’s a personal allegory,” said Gerda, “ I deny the 
allegation and I’ll wallop the alligator.” 

“ It’s my crawl,” admitted Tyrrel. 

He bent to tear the last joint of cactus from Lobo’s 
quivering chest. Both softness and mirth left Gerda’s eyes. 
She studied the Coloradoan’s lowered head with a hardening 
gaze. 

“You own up that you’re out only for the money. Yet 
you gave me the saddle — when I would have paid what I 
bid for it.” 

“Welsh will tell you just why, Miss Keith. It was to 
make sure of putting through the deal over Howbert’s 
steers — so I could get my divvy out of the good Kay Kay 
money, and help old Hack rustle the herd. Q. E. D.” 

Gerda slapped the cactus-bristling leather of her chaps 
w r ith the lash of her quirt. 



For Life — For Love 


117 


“ Cut out that drivel! Answer me! ” 

“Why, if you’re so set on knowing — I’m after the price 
of a brand. I want to be a king of cowmen and wed a sheep 
princess — or a cattle queen. What d’you say we hitch up, 
soon as I rustle a range and-” 

“You have a long, long trail to travel to the land of free 
ranges, cowboy.” 

The scoffing words ended in a derisive chuckle. But Tyrrel 
caught the hint of a quaver in the scornful notes. He replied 
with cool assurance. 

“Ante dotes on eating up long trails. Besides, we must 
be pretty near that Tabru range you told about.” 

“We’re on it now—and it’s as dry as Death,” said Gerda. 
She added bitterly, “The Kay Kay will be in luck if we 
manage to get half the herd over the mesa to water, alive. 
After such a stampede, they’ll all be drags. And I forced 
the deal on Donnie!” 

Tyrrel was shrewd enough to say no more. He fell to 
work with his wire nippers tweezering single cactus spines 
from Lobo’s legs. Gerda had turned her back on him. Too 
angry over the stampede to rest or relax, she searched the 
slope for fuel. 

The moon sagged down below the westward border of the 
thinning cloud rack, flooding the ridge top and valley with 
silver light. But the fire, fed with dead branches by Gerda, 
flared its high red beacon on the hill side. 




CHAPTER XIV 


THE CEASH 

A S THE moon sank towards the skyline a hoarse hail 
broke the hush of the hour before dawn. Tyrrel sent 
back an answering yell. After a few minutes Redeye and 
Butch spurred their horses up the slope into the firelight. 
A glance showed Tyrrel that neither animal carried any 
cactus. Their riders had trailed along the hard-beaten path 
of the stampede. 

Butch sidled up near the fire to fix his pig eyes upon the 
sleeping Pilar. Redeye stopped before Gerda. 

“Where’s the boss?” he demanded. 

Gerda’s head went up. Her eyes flashed. 

“Are you trying to make yourself out more of a fool than 
you look? You certainly are a big one if you don’t know by 
now that I’m boss of this drive.” 

The insolent stare of the puncher’s one eye wavered and 
sank. 

“’Scuse me, ma’am. No offense intended. I only meant 
Big Mat.” 

“No, you meant Mr. Welsh. What about him?’* 
“Nothing, ma’am. I just figgered he ought to ’ve showed 
up here before me and Butch. We seen him make a go to 
flank the stampede on the left.” 

“How about Mr. Keith and the rest?” 

“ Dunno, ma’am. Reckon we must ’a’ out-run ’em.” 

“If they followed, they can’t be far. Hustle more wood. 
*You too, Butch.” 

As the pair swaggered past Tyrrel their looks were so 
ugly that he quietly faced away and drew out a clip of 

118 


The Clash 


119 


cartridges to reload his pistol. He reached for the weapon. 
The holster was empt}\ He spoke to Gerda in an under¬ 
tone. 

“ Strikes me, we’ve drawn a pair of black knaves in this 
hand, Miss Gerda. Better watch the play close. I’ve lost 
my gun. Used it to smoke up that bunch of renegades when 
the stampede started. Must have failed to shove it well 
down into the holster.” 

“ I see. You want me to defend you, in case the hoys get 
playful.” 

Tyrrel hid all sign of how sharply the sarcasm stung him. 

“I’m thinking of your cousin, Miss Keith. You saw how 
Butch eyed her.” 

“And you saw how both buckaroos walked turkey when 
I showed them who’s boss.” 

Tyrrel returned to his plucking of cactus spines. Gerda 
carried no visible weapon. In case she was not armed, there 
was only one thing for him to do if the two punchers should 
try to carry out the devilishness that their looks had 
threatened. He could not hope to save the girls, but he 
could give his life in their defense. 

The unsavory pair came down the hillside, each dragging 
a mass of dead limbs. They threw the fuel on the big fire 
and turned scowling towards Gerda. To the vast relief 
of Tyrrel, he heard the sound of approaching hoof beats. 
Butch and Redeye morosely drew back to the far side of 
the fire. 

Keith appeared, loping his horse up the slope. He jerked 
off his big sombrero, to mop his bald head and peer around 
through his fire-glinting spectacles. 

“Pilar?” As he started the question his anxious glanc^ 
perceived the huddled form of the sleeping girl. His voice 
sharpened with dread. “Good God! She’s not — not hurt, 
is she?” 



120 _ Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


The cry wakened Pilar. She started up and threw out her 
arms to him. 

“Oh, Don Senor! You’ve come too! You’re safe!” 

Keith deliberately got down out of his saddle and went 
towards the girl, walking stiff-legged in his heavy chaps. 

“Your boots — your hat?” he queried. 

“ Back where the tent was,” she murmured, more than half 
ready to whimper over the terrible memory of the death 
torrent that had so nearly overwhelmed her. “ Santisima! 
I did not know of the danger. If Dick had not come and 
run off with me!” 

“Didn’t know? Yet a storm like that!” Keith’s hours of 
agonized fear for her safety flared into the angry reaction 
of his relief. “You silly little fool — to stay in that flimsy 
tent, when you should have taken to the truck! ” 

The girl’s smile faded. She crumpled down with her back 
to her guardian, her down-drooped face in her hands. He 
started to add to his reproof. Gerda put her hand on his 
shoulder. 

“You’ve said enough, Donnie. Leave her alone. She must 
have been right under the hoofs of the herd when Dick picked 
her up. She’ll not soon forget that stampede. It had even 
my hair trying to stand on end.” 

“Well, of course she is still a child. I’m sorry I spoke 
sharply,” admitted Keith. He turned to Tyrrel. “ That 
was riding, boy! We owe you a great deal.” 

“ Forget it,” said Tyrrel. “ I had to run to save myself. 
Just picked up Miss Chavez on my way.” 

Pilar twisted about to fling a taunt at her guardian. 

“He was Johnny-on-the-Spot. Where were you, I’d like 
to know? You’d have left me to be trampled! He did just 
what Gerda says—he pulled me right out from under the 
hoofs of those mad steers! Poder de Dios — how their eyes 
rolled! How they snorted and bellowed! But you didn’t 



The Clash 


121 


care the least bit! You left me to be trampled-” 

“That will do,” interrupted Gerda. “Donald is right. 
You should have had sense enough to take to the truck.” 

“Easy, easy,” soothed Keith. “We’re all of us pretty 
well on edge.” 

“ But I have the most cause to be, Donnie! The worst 
of the joke is on me. I forced the Kay Kay into the deal. 
There’s a big chance that we stand to lose at least half of 
our investment by this night’s work. Best I can do is to 
have you write off the loss against my share of the partner¬ 
ship.” 

Her brother met the impulsive offer with a smile. 

“Wait until we round up the herd-” 

He stopped short. From somewhere up over the hill 
muffled shots were booming into the dawn. 

“ Mat’s gun,” said Gerda. “ Listen — one-two — one-two- 
three. He’s signalling for help.” 

“Wait here with Pilar,” directed Keith. “I’ll take the 
boys.” 

He rode up the hill, followed by Tyrrel, Butch and Red¬ 
eye. Over the higher ridges to the east the gray dawn was 
blushing to a rose tint. By the time the four riders rounded 
the upper slope, the rose had flamed into scarlet and gold. 
Beyond the comparatively low summit of the ridge the dawn 
rays streamed before them across an intervening valley to the 
high, pine-darkened hulk of the Chupadera. 

But not one of the men gave a second glance to the mesa. 
All had fixed their gaze upon the weird, lifeless ruins that 
lay sprawled over the little mesa of the hill’s top. Blocks 
and rows of roofless, half-tumbled houses loomed cold and 
ashen in the dawn-light, like ghost-dwellings of their ancient 
builders. 

Tyrrel had never before seen a pueblo ruin. He stared 
across at the ponderous walls of a huge building on the far 





122 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


side. Like the lesser ruins, its masonry of pale gray lime¬ 
stone held the eye with its unearthly look of desolation and 
death. 

But an outroar of pistol shots off to the right sent all 
four riders racing aslant the dead pueblo. They dashed past 
a block of tumbled houses and two pits that looked to Tyrrel 
like prospect holes. The shots were coming from another 
hole beside the second house group. 

Butch yelled and fired an answering shot. Out of the hole 
blared back the angry bellow of Welsh. 

“ He can’t be badly hurt,” said Keith. “ Your ropes, boys? 
All right, Mat. We hear you. Jugged yourself, did you? 
No broken bones, I hope.” 

“ It’s bad enough! ” roared the prisoner. “ Fool horse 
walked into this—” the explosion of wrath ended in a string 
of curses against horse and hole. 

Keith peered down over the broken brink of the twenty-foot 
shaft. 

“No chance to get the poor brute up. You’ll have to 
shoot him, Mat.” 

“Not a bit of it. He broke his fool neck. Come on, you 
fellows.” 

Three ropes slid over the brink of the shaft. To the first 
one Welsh tied his saddle, bridle, saddle-blanket and canteen. 
While these were being pulled up, he fastened the second rope 
under his armpits. To help the four rescuers hoist him, he 
climbed the third rope, hand over hand. There being no 
curb to the shaft, the men had to drag him over the rounded 
brink. 

He staggered to his feet, scratched and purple-faced and 
boiling with rage. The glare of his bloodshot eyes centered 
upon Tyrrel. He burst out in a fury. 

“ You sktink! The gall of you showing up here after what 
you did! I’ve got you dead to rights now, you-” 




The Clash 


123 


With the curse, Welsh jerked out his big pistol. Up went 
Tyrrel’s hands. 

<fi Hold on,” he said. “ I’m not armed. Lost my gun.” 

The muzzle of the big pistol did not lower. Tyrrel’s cool 
look and perfect stillness alone kept the infuriated man from 
pressing the trigger. 

44 Lost your gun — nothing! You sneak! You’re trying 
to stall just because I’ve got the drop on you.” 

“Ask Mr. Keith to look in my holster. Miss Keith already 
knows. Shoot — and be hanged for murder! My hands are 
up; my holster empty. You can’t prove self-defense even 
with Butch and Redeye to back your oath.” 

Welsh swore another kind of oath. Butch and Redeye 
sidled around, ready to cover Keith. Their warped loyalty 
was not for the real head of their outfit that had hired them, 
but for its third partner — son of their fathers’ boss in the 
old days. 

Keith rallied from his amazement over Welsh’s outbreak. 
Heedless of the menacing shift of the punchers, he jumped 
in front of Tyrrel. 

44 Wait, Mat! ” he warned. 44 The boy is right. His hands 
are up.” 

44 No reason for not shooting down a caught rustler.” 

“Caught? You’re clear off your head!” 

44 That’s the charitable word for it,” put in Tyrrel. 44 Last 
night, at the outbreak of the stampede, he took two or more 
cracks at me. One of them burned this streak across my 
cheek.” 

44 It was meant to burn a hole through your treacherous 
brain, you sneak!” bellowed Welsh. 44 Get out of the way, 
Don. I saw him start the stampede. He let the herd bust 
loose behind Gerda. He shot half a dozen steers to get the 
rest to going.” 

44 Le’s string up the dirty skunk,” suggested Redeye. 



124 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


His one useful eye cast a glance around in wolfish search 
for a tree. Butch started to coil in his rope. 

“We c’n drop him into the hole, Red,” he solved the tree¬ 
less problem. “ That’ll do the business.” 

Keith backed a step closer to the threatened man. His 
pistol butt came temptingly within reach of Tyrrel. But the 
odds were three to one, and Keith would have been in line 
with at least some of the shots from the gunmen. Tyrrel 
kept his hands up. 

“ It’s as you say, Mr. Keith. Mr. Welsh is clean off his 
head. A thunderbolt started the stampede. I shot the 
steers — three, not half a dozen — to try and head the rush. 
This charge is an open-faced lie. What motive could I have 
had to turn the herd loose?” 

Welsh flamed with renewed rage. 

“I’ll show you who’s a liar, you slick Dick! You and 
Jacarilla have had it framed up all along. With not a single 
one of all the steers rebranded, all you had to do was stam¬ 
pede ’em towards the Lazy S Bar. Jacarilla’s been trailing 
us with his outfit, ready to run ’em back to his range.” 

The bald assertion gave Keith an opening. 

“Hold on, Mat. Where’s your proof!” 

“Proof! Haven’t you heard of Jacarilla’s old tricks? 
This one’s easier for him than rolling off a log. He couldn’t 
have overlooked such a slick play if he’d tried to. It’s a safe 
bet his outfit’s already back-trailing the herd. Not a KK 
on one of the steers — only his own brand. How can we 
prove the rustling of a single head, even if we catch him 
with them off his own range? Stand clear, Don. We’ll 
shove this skunk into the hole, strung on his own rope. Hurry 
up. We’ve got to move fast to head off the Sneaky Snake.” 

Butch shook out the loop of his rope, ready to whip it 
over Tyrrel’s head. Keith did not budge. 

“ Three of a kind may beat one pair, Mat. But you’ll not 



The Clash 


125 


make the play. You can’t lynch a man on mere suspicion 
of rustling. I’m siding Tyrrel in this — to the limit.” 

The little man spoke quietly — so quietly that even the 
slow-witted Butch realized they could not lynch Tyrrel until 
they had first killed the senior partner of the Kay Kay. 
That, however, would not be difficult. Everybody knew that 
Keith was a poor shot and slow on the draw. 

Redeye and Butch looked to Welsh for the signal of 
attack. He stood hesitating. Keith was Gerda’s brother. 
The little rooster w r ould do as he said. He would go the 
limit- 

Out of the corner of his eye the big man glimpsed Butch’s 
swinging noose. The simple answer to his problem flashed 
into his hot brain. They had only to rope Keith first. His 
thin lips parted to shout the order. Off to his left came 
a clatter of hoofs on the fallen stones of the first ruins. He 
glanced around and suddenly lowered his pistol. 

Gerda loped forward on Lobo. Behind the silver-rimmed 
cantle of the contest saddle Pilar sat clinging to her cousin’s 
broad belt. 

“What’s the rumpus here?” Gerda demanded. 

With the lowered pistol still in his hand, Welsh burst into 
a passionate repetition of his charges against Tyrrel. When 
he had quite finished, Gerda turned to the accused man. 

“Well, what’s the answer, cowboy?” 

“ If Howbert has been trailing our drive, it’s news to me, 
Miss Keith. All the rest is feverish fancy, except one fact. 
I shot three steers. I did it trying to head off the stampede. 
That was started by a thunderbolt. It hit into the thick of 
the herd. You must have seen it.” 

“ I did — and I saw you try to block that rush. Call off 
your war, Mat. You’re all wrong over this. That thunder¬ 
bolt must have queered your head, or at least your eyes.” 

There was nothing for Welsh to do but put up his gun. 





126 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Redeye and Butch viewed the act with a disappointment that 
verged upon disgust. Gerda caught their black looks. 

“Hit out,” she ordered. “This is no time for loafing. 
We’re short two horses. Back trail and look for the cavvy. 
We’ll circle the head of the east valley and see if the herd 
scattered on north. If you meet the rest of the boys, have 
them swing round from the southeast. Vamos! ” 

The pair shuffled to their horses, but paused to look at 
Welsh. 

“You’ve got your orders,” he growled at them. “Ride.” 

The two loped off to the southeast. Keith made ready to 
mount his big horse. 

“ I’ll take Pilar myself,” he said. “ Lobo is too tricky.” 

“Just a moment,” interrupted Tyrrel. “In Mr. Welsh’s 
excitement he has made several unprovable assertions deroga¬ 
tory of me, and he has branded me with various unpleasant 
names. Before we start I’d like to hear an apology from 
him.” 

“Then you’ll wait till hades freezes over,” replied Welsh. 
“I stand by every word.” 

“Too much is enough,” said Tyrrel. 

He jumped with the quickness of a puma. Taken by sur¬ 
prise, Welsh had his pistol only half drawn when Tyrrel 
gripped his wrist. A twist whirled it down into the sand. 
Tyrrel kicked it away and ducked Welsh’s lunge at his throat. 
Keith ran to pick up the automatic. 

Welsh whirled to rush. He met a punch in the throat, 
followed by a slashing uppercut to the jaw. The blow jerked 
his head up and back so violently that his hat flew off. 
He bellowed and again rushed. This time Tyrrel side¬ 
stepped. As Welsh lurched past, he staggered him with a 
full-arm swing under the right ear. The big man stopped, 
half dazed. 

“What you waiting for, Mat?” called Gerda, her eyes 



The Clash 


127 


glittering with delight. “You promised to bulldog him. 
When do you start?” 

The mockery stung Welsh out of his daze. He made 
another bull rush, but this time with his fists raised to guard 
his neck and jaw. Tyrrel ducked under his guard and drove 
home two short-arm jolts to the solar plexus. For all his 
iron frame, the young cowman reeled and gasped . . . . 
but one of his down-clutching hands clamped on Tyrrel’s 
forearm. 

Had not Welsh been so badly shocked by the body blows, 
the utmost of Tyrrel’s whalebone strength and cat-suppleness 
would have failed to break that terrible grip. As it was, he 
managed to wrench the arm free, at the cost of half his 
shirt sleeve, a few square inches of cuticle, and some badly 
bruised muscles. 

The narrowness of his escape warned him against the risk 
of in-fighting. Once fast in Welsh’s grip, he would have had 
as little chance as in the paws of a grizzly. Murder glared 
from the big man’s bloodshot eyes. During the brief moments 
of arm clutching he had rallied from the body jolts. He 
advanced upon his enemy with hands no longer clenched but 
out-thrust, every thick finger crooked to clutch. 

To knock out a strong fighter with bare knuckles is no 
easy matter even for a skilled boxer. Yet Tyrrel knew he 
never could wear down a man like Welsh in a long-drawn-out 
fight. He shifted backwards, waiting for an opening. 
Welsh’s savage blue eyes flamed with exultance. He rushed. 

Pilar’s scream stabbed like a knife-thrust into Tyrrel’s 
blood-singing ears. 

“ The hole — the hole, Dick! Behind you ! 99 

He leaped sideways and whirled. Welsh barely managed 
to check his rush on the very edge of the shaft. He stood 
tottering. A slight shove would have plunged him headlong 
into the pit. Instead of pushing him, Tyrrel stepped away. 



128 _ Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“ How about that apology? ” he asked. 

Welsh recovered his balance. He faced about and charged, 
more infuriated than ever. Rage blinded him. Tyrrel coolly 
dodged and whipped in a hook under the left ear — the ear 
that bore the notch of the Lazy S Bar. Like the blow under 
the other ear, it staggered and half-dazed the big man. 

Before he could turn, Tyrrel leaped in and brought his 
fist down like a hammer on the nape of the thick red neck. 
Welsh fell as if shot. He lay still. 

“ Good heavens, boy! ” cried Keith. “ You’ve killed him! ” 

“ No! Stand clear, Donnie,” commanded his sister. 46 He’s 
only stunned. Let them fight it out.” 

Welsh pulled himself half up and sat swaying, his blue 
eyes still glassy and vacant. Tyrrel poised a step away, 
waiting for him to get on his feet.” 

“That apology?” he urged. “I sure do hate to break 
my knuckles any worse.” 

“Ugh!” gasped Welsh. “Can’t fight a jumping flea. I’ll 
own up this much — I haven’t any proof of what I named 
you.” 

“I accept the apology,” said Tyrrel. “Your woolly 
fancies don’t interest me. Only keep them under your hat 
after this.” 

Gerda cut in on Welsh’s angry reply. 

“ Let it ride, Mat. We need Dick till we pick up the herd 
and get it over the mesa. Time enough to resume your war 
after we’ve finished this drive.” 



CHAPTER XV 


BURIED TREASURE 

W ELSH stared grimly at his horseless saddle. 

“ Sooner you hit out the better. Pm betting you’ll 
find a big slice of the herd trailing east with the Sneaky 
Snake. Might leave me my gun, Don; no, I’ll not use it on 
him. May need it for myself, though, if no one turns up 
with a horse for me.” 

44 There they come now,” said Gerda, 44 nearly a dozen re¬ 
mounts, and of course Jake jingling the bunch. We’re bound 
to have some kind of a cavvy, long as that old wrangler can 
crawl into a saddle. If we take to airplanes, like some of 
the big outfits, I give you two to one, Jake will turn up with 
Pegasus.” 

44 And the battle steeds of the Valkyries,” chimed in Tyrrel. 
This was Greek to Welsh. He scowled and heaved himself 
to his feet to signal the wrangler. 

44 We’ll go on, Mat,” said Keith. 44 Pilar has no saddle. 
She will have to ride with me until the truck turns up. 
Suppose you go down into the west valley and pick out the 
best route for the drive across the mesa. No one can come 
up to you in trail lining. Have Jake follow us with the 
cavvy.” 

44 I’d better ride with Dick,” said Pilar. 44 Ante is bigger 
than your horse.” 

“There will be plenty of remounts. You’ll ride with me.” 
Sharply as Keith spoke, his reply seemed to please the girl. 
She smiled as she slipped over behind his saddle from the 
fidgeting Lobo. 

Gerda led the way back aslant the hill top and down into 
129 


130 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


the east valley at a lope. There was desperate need for 
haste. The sun had swung up well above the horizon. Before 
it should pass across the sky and go down in the west a vast 
deal must be done if the herd was to be saved. 

First of all, as many as possible of the thousand scattered 
steers must be rounded up. Then, though almost famished 
from lack of water and leg-weary from the long run of the 
stampede, they must be driven up and over the mesa top and 
down the far side. Any that failed to stand up on the hard 
trail or that were missed in the round-up, would perish of 
thirst. 

The horses and riders faced the prospect of at least a 
day and night of still greater hardship. Until they should 
come upon the truck, every rider must go without food. 
That would not be a great privation, even for the girls. But 
the shortage of water was a serious matter in this arid semi- 
desert. The fierce dry heat of the upclimbing sun had already 
begun to parch throats. 

Gerda came to a sudden halt in the deep sand of the valley 
bottom. She had noticed for the first time that the canteen 
was gone from her saddle. During the wild night run, the 
weight of the full canteen had broken loose its fastenings 
under the jolts of Lobo’s mad leaps. 

“How’s your water, Donnie?” she asked. “I’ve lost 
mine — can and all.” 

Keith shook his canteen. His face went blank. 

“Almost empty. Yet I was the one who warned the boys 
to tank up.” 

“ It’s all right,” said Tyrrel. “ Mine’s full.” 

He unlashed his canteen and held it out. Keith shook his 
head. 

“ It’s yours. I’m the one who blundered. I’ll pay for it.” 

“You forget the girls, Mr. Keith. The truck is bound 
to show up by noon. I can hold out all right until then.” 



Buried Treasure 


131 


“Take it, Donnie,” ordered Gerda. “You know you’ll 
need it as badly as Pilar will without her hat. It’s his head, 
Dick. He was sunstruck, back East, summer before last.” 

“ That’s why he can’t wear a wig — not even a toupee,” 
added Pilar. “ He has to keep his head cool, the poor dear! ” 

Keith winced. 

“Very well, Tyrrel. I’ll take part for Miss Chavez and 
myself, if Gerda will take the rest.” 

“No, Donnie. Only one drink now for me, and the same 
for Dick. You and Pilar will need all that’s left.” 

She tilted up the full canteen and drank deep. Tyrrel 
tilted it in turn. But he took only half a swallow — barely 
enough to moisten his dry mouth and throat. Sufficient for 
him that his lips touched the aluminum rim that had pressed 
upon Gerda’s red lips. 

Lobo was already loping off with her across the valley. 
Tyrrel urged Ante into a canter. The others followed at 
a jog-trot. The sand made heavy going, and Keith’s horse 
carried a double load. Trotting is not easy on a rear rider. 
Pilar hooked her little hands in her guardian’s broad belt, 
and heaved a sigh. 

“Ah-oh! Look at Ante overhauling Lobo. Why didn’t 
you let me ride with Dick?” 

“ Last night was enough,” snapped Keith. “ Haven’t you 
any sense of propriety at all? We have to hold you in hand 
even here.” 

“You’re not holding me in any way. I’m holding you. 
But Dick did. He held me tight in his arms — all those 
hours!” 

Her guardian’s ears glowed bright red under the big 
sombrero. 

“That will do! You must realize how I . . . . besides, 
what do we know about the fellow? He may be an utterly 
worthless — no, I must admit he seems a fine boy, and he 



132 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


has shown himself both decent and nervy. He saved you last 
night. If you’re really interested in him, nina, I will make 
inquiries about him just as soon as possible.” 

Pilar made a very unladylike face at the stiffly erect back 
of the promiser. Her voice dripped with honey sweetness. 

“You are most kind, dueno mio. When I marry I shall 
coax my querido to put all our money back into sheep. A 
man will do anything for love, will he not, Cousin Donald?” 

“Not some things — that is, not if he is a man!” Keith 
ground out between his teeth. He peered angrily ahead at 
Tyrrel, who was already half way across the valley with 
Gerda. 

The two were loping along side by side, their eyes fixed 
upon the sand between the bunches of tall brown grass and 
the scattered yuccas and cacti. They were looking for tracks 
of the steers. Had they wished, their search could have been 
carried on at racing speed. The only cattle on this dr;y 
range were the runaway steers. Their tracks would show 
plainly in the soft sand. 

To the north a band of pronghorn antelope drifted off into 
the distance like a fleeting cloud shadow. But the searchers 
saw no cattle or cattle tracks until they came to the east side 
of the valley. There they found a wide beaten trail leading 
up a gap through the ridges. 

“Band of three or four hundred head, back-trailing for 
the Lazy S Bar,” remarked Gerda. “ Looks as if Mat called 
the turn on old Jacarilla.” 

Tyrrel was studying the trodden sand. 

“Not a horse track anywhere. The steers are trailing 
themselves back for the last water. Let’s ride.” 

Gerda put Lobo into a full gallop. Within half a mile 
they began to overhaul drags of the band. Two miles farther 
they headed the leaders — the four survivors of the seven 
wild steers that had led the stampede. Nowhere was there 



Buried Treasure 


133 


any sign of Lazy S Bar riders. 

“ My apologies to old Hack,” said Gerda. 44 Twice to him, 
and once to you, Dick. Look at those four renegades. Hack 
advised me to turn the bunch adrift. You did the same. 
They’ve made us no end of trouble.” 

44 Sorry I shot the other three,” said Tyrrel. 44 But I’m 
going to see the Kay Kay on the hides of these four — or eat 
my hat. Here we go.” 

They rode at the foremost steers, yelling and waving their 
ropes. The renegades and a few others tried to bolt aslant 
up into the junipers. But the ridge side was steep, and 
they were dispirited from the terrible run of the stampede. 
The sprinting of Lobo and Ante soon turned all hack down 
the gap. 

The drive became tediously slow when it reached the tail 
end of the drags. These weaker steers could not be forced 
out of a slow walk. In the sandy bed of the gap the heat 
of the mounting sun was almost furnace-like. Even Lobo 
drooped his proud head. As Ante wove from side to side 
on the heels of the scuffling drags, Tyrrel sought to ease the 
dryness of his mouth by chewing the few bitter-sweet juniper 
berries that came within his reach. 

At the mouth of the gap Keith and Pilar were waiting 
under the nearest juniper, up on the ridge side. When they 
rode down to join in the drive, Pilar’s black hair was covered 
with an unfinished basket of hastily woven grama grass. 
From under its ragged edge she cast a coquettish glance at 
Tyrrel. 

44 Ah, mi dulce — campeador! ” she appealed. 44 Is it not a 
creation? ” 

44 Three hundred and forty-seven head,” broke in Keith. 
44 Gerda, you and Tyrrel have saved the day for us. Did 
you see anything of the Lazy S Bar ? ” 

44 All in Mat’s mind. How about the rest of the herd?” 



134 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Her brother explained the situation in a few words. At 
dawn Slim and Gailor, the day wrangler, had begun to round 
up the herd from the south side. When Butch and Redeye 
joined them, Gailor scouted up the east side of the valley. 
No steers had drifted east except at the gap. Keith had 
sent Gailor back with Jake to help drive the main herd across 
into the west valley. 

“ We’ll cut straight over with this bunch, and look for 
Mat,” said Gerda. 

Slower than ever, the driven steers plodded through the 
deep sand of the valley bottom and toiled up the slopes to 
the city of the dead. But at the top their laggard gait 
quickened suddenly into a shambling trot. Pleased yet puz¬ 
zled, the riders followed at a walk. The leaders of the rush 
halted in a barren rocky draw over beyond the farther ruins. 

Tyrrel peered at the huge main building. Its massive walls 
of ash-gray limestone flags were at least six feet thick, and 
towered up thirty feet or more to their unroofed broken 
parapets. The length of the great ruin was a good two 
hundred feet and its width almost a hundred and fifty. Tyrrel 
turned from it to the many crumbling honeycomb houses. 

“Apartments to let. Sunny site. Open view. Good ven¬ 
tilation. Abundance of wells. All that’s needed is water, 
inhabitants and modern plumbing.” 

“ They’re not wells, Dick,” said Pilar. “A few are Jcivas — 
sacred council-chambers of the Pueblos. The rest were dug 
by the treasure hunters.” 

“ Treasure?” 

“Yes, of course. Tabru is where the Aztecs came when 
they fled from Mexieo with the half of their great hoard of 
gcfld and emeralds that the Conquistadors failed to capture. 
They hid it here in^this old, old pueblo, and for hundreds of 
years treasure hunters have searched for it — Spaniards and 
Americans. But it’s never been found .... all those 



Buried Treasure 


135 


millions and millions in gold and emeralds and maybe rubies!” 

Tyrrel’s mouth rounded in a big O. 

“Uh-uh! That beats any lost-mine story I ever heard.” 

“Oh, there are many lost mines, too — all the Spanish 
mines that the Pueblos covered up when they massacred the 
colonists in sixteen-eighty. But the treasure here isn’t un¬ 
mined ore — it’s pure gold and precious stones. My padre 
knew all about it. All the old families knew about the Aztec 
refugees.” 

Tyrrel rounded his eyes as well as his mouth. 

“Aztecs? Then that big stone barn is one of their temples 
where they used to carve up human sacrifices to Huitzil- 
what-d’you-call-’im ? ” 

“ Piffle!” scoffed Gerda. “No Aztec ever came up this 
way. The people of this pueblo were just ordinary Tampiro 
Pueblo Indians. Your Aztec temple was only one of the old 
mission churches. The Franciscans built it before the mas¬ 
sacre. After the revolt the Apaches came in from the east 
and wiped out the whole tribe.” 

“ But, Gerda, you know that padre told me himself that 
the Aztecs-” 

“Pure myth, nina, like the Seven Cities of Cibola,” ex¬ 
plained Keith. “ It is only one of those baseless pot-of-gold- 
under-the-end-of-the-rainbow legends that lure men to die of 
thirst in waterless places like this.” 

“One fool outfit drilled down over there through solid 
limestone — looking for that cached gold!” Gerda voiced her 
derision. “They actually expected to find buried treasure 
under fifty feet of solid rock! ” 

Tyrrel did not smile. There was not even a twinkle in his 
eyes. They glowed ruddily with the splendor of the vision 
behind them. His rounded lips came together in an unctious 
smack. 

“ Um-m-m! Can } r ou blame the searchers? Tlffnk of the 





136 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


fun of thinking you’re just about to shove your drill into a 
treasure like that! How your heart would flutter and hop 
every inch you bored nearer to the hoard! And right down 
there, only a few feet deeper, that black hole, sealed with 
Montezuma’s signet ring — and chuck full of nuggets and 
gold dust oozing out of the cracked rawhide sacks — and 
solid gold Aztec godlets with ruby eyes and emerald but¬ 
tons — and gem-studded gold war clubs — and-” 

44 Rolled gold and rhinestones,” mocked Gerda. 44 This 
Aztec treasure is worth about one per cent of one share of 
wildcat oil stock. You’d make a great prospector, Dick. 
You have every qualification, except sense and savvy.” 

44 Well, I might take a try at it sometime. I’ll think it 
over.” 

Tyrrel gazed ahead to where the three hundred and more 
steers were lowing and shifting restlessly about in the barren, 
rocky draw. 

44 Just the same — about this cached treasure — isn’t there 
likely to be some fire when there’s so much smoke? Couldn’t 
Montezuma’s outfit have slipped up this way with the mint, 
while Cortez and all the historians were looking the other 
way? ” 

44 Of course they could!” cried Pilar. “ Poder de Dios! 
It is men like you, Don Ricardo el Campeador , who see things! 
It’s the man of faith and vision who finds mines and 
treasures! ” 

44 1 am he,” admitted Tyrrel with becoming modesty. 44 At 
least, I’m going to think it over. Just run your mental 
fingers through that fat, yellow gold dust, sifting out of those 
cracked pack-sacks! Wheelbarrow loads — truck loads — 
tons of gold!” 

Keith was peering at the lowing steers, more than ever 
perplexed. 

44 First time I ever saw cattle act that way, Tyrrel. How 




Buried Treasure 


137 


about you?” 

“Might be they’ve found a salt lick, but are too dry to 
lick,” jested Tyrrel. “Which reminds me. If all this coun¬ 
try is dry as Miss Gerda says, those old-timer citizens of 
the town must all have belonged to the Antelope Clan. 
Pronghorns can go for months on dew.” 

“They had big tanks — reservoirs — over there on the far 
side,” explained Keith. “The snow falls deep up here in 
winter. They could raise their corn, beans and squashes 
during the rains.” 

His sister swept the ridge top and slopes with her clear 
gaze. 

“ May have been a spring within carrying distance. 
They’re apt to dry up in this country. Or perhaps the 
Tampiros killed theirs — if they ever had one. The people 
of more than one pueblo did that, when driven away or wiped 
out by the Navaj os or Apaches.” 

Tyrrel looked back at the desolate, ash-gray ruins. 

“ If these folks killed their water, they seemed to have 
killed it dead. Their town’s as dry as a Kansas farm burgh 
with a lady mayor. I’ll have to pack in liquid refreshments 
as well as dynamite — if I decide to come and get that 
buried treasure.” 

Gerda uttered a scornful “Bah! ” and gave Lobo his head. 
The others jogged after her, to drive the milling steers out 
of the draw and over the round, down into the west valley. 



CHAPTER XVI 


thirst’s nectar 

S OME distance south of the dead pueblo of fabulous 
treasure the stray band of steers was driven into and 
merged with the main herd. Slim, Butch and Redeye and 
the two wranglers had managed to force even the weakest 
of the drags over the ridges. 

Old Jake made positive assertion that only three horses 
and not over fifty head of steers were missing. This, if true, 
was far better than had been expected. But many of the 
thirst-tormented beasts were already wobbling, and the drive 
over the mesa would not be easy even for the strongest. 

Welsh came jogging down from a hard ride on the heights. 
As he shifted his saddle from his spent horse to a fresh 
one he told of a feasible ascent a little farther south. 

The herd was at once started along the base of the mesa. 
But before it could be strung out in trail column, the chuck- 
truck came crawling out of a draw from the southeast. Re¬ 
gardless of the herd, all the riders loped to meet it. Every 
canteen, except the one given to Keith by Tyrrel, had been 
drained. 

Butch, Slim, and Redeye, having no pity on their horses, 
were first to reach the truck. But Cookie barred them from 
the tap of the water tank with his fat body and a handax 
and his butcher knife. He held them off until the other riders 
arrived. 

“What’s the matter here?” demanded Welsh. “Stand 
clear, you bean-burner. We’re all dry.” 

Cookie did not budge. 

“I’m boss of this here chuck-wagon, and I’m going to 
138 


Thirst 3 s Nectar 


139 


stay boss. My orders’ll come from Miss Gerdy. It’s her 
drive.” 

“All right, Cookie,” said Gerda. “Let the boys drink.” 

“Nope — not till you’ve got it all sized up, ma’am. That 
gosh-danged sand is powerful hard sledding, and I got stalled 
in one them washes. Now here’s the mesa to buck. It’ll 
take every drop for the injine.” 

“But we must have water, you fathead,” growled Welsh. 
“We’ll leave the truck here and pack water back for it 
later.” 

The punchers started to close in. 

“ Hold on,” urged the cook. “ I’ll bust you each a can of 
tomatusses.” 

“That beats alkali slough water any old time,” said the 
appeased Butch. “Bust ahead, buddy. You’re a sugar 
cooky.” 

“ I got just two cans apiece, and one over for manners, 
gents. Cached ’em for this here contingency. Go slow if 
you figger on washing down any grub.” 

Gerda ordered him to set out a cold snack, along with one 
can of tomatoes for each person. She urged everyone to 
eat plenty of sugar. 

“Best thing to stave off thirst and keep you going when 
dry,” she told Tyrrel. 

All were ravenously hungry, and they ate with the knowl¬ 
edge that they might have to go another day before the next 
meal. Near the end Cookie mentioned that he had seen two 
small bunches of drags, about thirty in all, lying down, seven 
or eight miles back over the hills. 

Gerda looked at her brother. She spoke in a cool, rather 
hard tone. 

“They may be too far gone to drive. But the Kay Kay 
isn’t going to lose a head, if I can help it. Put Pilar on the 
truck, and help the boys. Dick will come with me. Hand 



140 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


out our second cans, Cookie. It’s for each one to use his 
own as he thinks best.” 

She left her can in the care of the cook. Tyrrel tied his 
in his slicker. 

Ante and Lobo were still stronger than the broncho re¬ 
mounts. They had more speed and stamina than the smaller 
horses. The day was at its hottest when they brought their 
riders over the hills and south along the other valley to the 
farther bunch of drags. 

When Gerda halted for a short rest before beginning the 
drive, Tyrrel drained the liquid from his can of tomatoes 
into her empty canteen. He then opened the can with his 
knife and wiped out the dry nostrils of the two horses with 
pieces of the juicy pulp. Though Gerda said nothing, her 
gray-green eyes warmed from their usual cool emerald beauty 
into soft loveliness. 

The down steers were hard to get on their feet and no less 
hard to keep moving. But the heavy sand was avoided by 
working them up the ridge. Much urging kept them on the 
move along the top. 

At last came the slant down into the west valley. Nothing 
remained of the outfit. Hours past, herd and riders and 
truck had all trailed away into the draw up the mesa side 
chosen by Welsh. Gerda looked soberly from the dusty trail 
to the lagging bunch of weary steers. The sun was already 
half down the western sky. She spoke without looking at 
Tyrrel, in a voice harshened by thirst. 

“ Cookie did not leave my tomatoes. These drags are trail¬ 
ing slower than the herd. Driving them, we can’t hope to 
catch up. Chances are they’ll all lie down and stay down 
before we make the far side. What’s the use?” 

“Why quit before we have to?” replied Tyrrel. “We’ll 
save the whole bunch.” 

Gerda’s response was to thwack her rope on a steer that 



Thirst's Nectar 


141 

had stopped to kneel down. The little band plodded away 
up the draw in the broad hoof-ground trail of the herd. 
Their gait was the crawl of a tortoise — but of a tortoise 
that did not stop. Foot by foot they climbed up through 
the junipers and cedars. 

Sunset found them among the pines, and still climbing. 
Twilight faded into dusk. The velvet blackness of night 
closed down upon the mesa. Overhead arched a dome of 
blue-black opal, studded with diamonds. 

The cool of nightfall had brought a little energy back into 
the flabby muscles of the drags, and the trail was well marked 
by the thousands of scuffling hoofs that had gone before. The 
drags wobbled on along it. When the rising moon slanted its 
bright rays through the black pines, the riders counted their 
bunch and found that not one had turned away off trail. 

They drove on and on, slowly but steadily, over the top 
of the mesa. The long hours dragged past — hours that to 
Tyrrel were a mingling of intense suffering with no less in¬ 
tense joy. The canteen had long since been drained; but 
each time that Gerda had opened it he had cheated her by 
taking only a few drops — not even enough to moisten his 
mouth. 

That was now the chief cause of his suffering. His throat 
rasped from dryness; his lips were cracking; his tongue had 
begun to swell. Yet the very torment of his thirst added 
to his happiness. He had cheated Gerda into drinking all 
except a few drops. He had kept her from suffering the 
worst. 

And there was also the blissfulness of her companionship. 
Side by side, they drifted along at the heels of the drags 
through the weird chiaroscuro of black pine shadows and 
brilliant moonlight. They drooped wearily in their saddles. 
For the most part they were silent. 

But he felt that the girl was as intensely aware of his 



142 _ Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


nearness as he was of hers. He knew that, like himself, she 
would never forget this strange night-trailing over the high 
mesa — this sharing of weariness and thirst and solitude. To 
side a comrade in hardship and suffering stirs far deeper 
feelings than can be reached by the light-hearted companion¬ 
ship of pleasure. 

Though every dragging mile added to his pain, Tyrrel felt 
more than contentment. Gerda was as he wished her to be — 
enduring, uncomplaining, serene, almost gentle. She showed 
no sign of her too-ready temper and scorn and pride. To 
him the weary night was not a night of misery but of joyous 
mystery. What thoughts, what emotions were behind those 
steady, long-sustained glances of the girl’s shadow-veiled 
eyes ? 

The dejected steers dragged on. A hundred-foot up-slope 
would have stopped them no less hopelessly than a hundred- 
foot cliff. But the trail was now winding down the west side 
of the mesa. The leaden weight of their thick-set bodies kept 
the drags descending. 

Sunrise found them down on the western plateau. Tyrrel 
raised his head to peer along the trail. For the first time 
Gerda saw his face in the clear light. It was gray. His 
eyes were sunken. 

“You — thirst!” she choked out. “Eight miles to water. 
The drags — all in — done for. Ride!” 

He shook his head. She insisted. He pointed. Miles 
away to the southwest a gray beetle was scurrying along in 
a cloud of dust that the sunrays glorified into a halo. 

“ Truck,” croaked Tyrrel. 

With hard-swung ropes they urged on the now-staggering 
steers. They covered less than a quarter-mile before the 
steers raised their down-drooped heads. A moment since 
they had been sagging, reeling, ready to drop in their tracks. 
Now they broke into a trot. 



Thirst’s Nectar 


143 


“They smell — water-hole,” said Gerda. 

The steers crossed a rise, lumbered down through a hollow 
past an arroyo, and climbed a ridge. Nearly a mile beyond 
they reached the point where the trail crossed an old half- 
beaten, round-up road. Along this road the truck came 
chugging and bumping to meet them. 

Welsh was driving. He swerved alongside and around the 
steers to stop before the two riders. Keith reached out a 
full canteen to his sister. She wrenched off the cap and 
twisted around to Tyrrel. He drew back, signing for her 
to drink first. She spouted the water into his face. 

Lobo and Ante were lunging forward to crowd up against 
the side of the truck. The steers also had smelled the water 
in the tanks. They wheeled and charged the truck in a 
frantic rush. 

Gerda gave no heed. She was holding the canteen first to 
Tyrrel’s lips and then to her own. Welsh and Keith, between 
them, managed to turn one of the full tanks around, spout 
inward. They drew buckets of water, which Ante and Lobo, 
thanks to their long necks, were easily able to reach. The 
young steers jostled and bawled in their wild yearning to 
get at the life-saving drink. 

“Look at them,” said Welsh. “Yet I’ll bet they simply 
fell down off the mesa. Ought to ’ve seen the herd, Gerda. 
They were nearly as far gone. Smelt the water, though, a 
good three miles back. Ran us all the way to the hole.” 

The truck tanks held enough to give every one of the thirty 
odd steers a drink. The difficulty was to get it to them. 
Much water was spilled by their frantic struggling. But by 
a deal of persistence and some work with the horses, all were 
at last given at least half a bucketful apiece. 

This was no more than a drop in the gullets of the famished 
beasts. When Welsh drove out of the mob and speeded the 
truck on along the trail towards the water-hole, the steers 



144 _ Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


pursued at a stampede run. 

Gerda and Tyrrel turned into the round-up road and 
stopped to open their second canteen. Like their horses, 
they were already wonderfully refreshed. Tyrrel’s sunken 
eyes glowed with renewed life. He found that he could 
speak, though his swollen tongue made his voice thick. 

“Was — worth while. Saved ’em all.” 

“ Thanks to you, Dick! Have another. It won’t hurt us 
to drink it all, if we take only a swallow at a time.” 

“Don’t mind if I do. You’re a bully good side-partner, 
Gerda!” 

The girl stared after the dust cloud of the fast-running 
truck and steers. She could not bring herself to let Tyrrel 
see the look in her eyes. All before her was Kay Kay range — 
her range! He was only an unknown broncho buster and 
contest rider. Pride blocked her intended surrender. 

“You need a shave, buddy. I’m dying for eats and a good 
soak and — house clothes. Let’s ride.” 

Tyrrel did not ask her to linger. He knew what he wanted 
and when. He could wait. He smiled at the girl’s strong, 
beautiful profile, and put Ante into a lope. 



CHAPTER XVII 


DRESS AND REDRESS 

T HE Kay Kay ranch had once been the hacienda of a 
Spanish sheep king. The corrals and outbuildings were 
modern and American But the old casa grande was a two- 
story edifice of solid masonry, without a window on the lower 
floor. It had been built in the old days of Apache raids. 

The iron-studded gates of the arched portale opened into 
a double patio. The outer one of these two courtyards was 
bare and uninviting. Upon it faced the rooms of the long 
“L” of the casa. These former quarters of servants had 
been turned into a cook and bunk house for employees. But 
Tyrrel found a sanitary bathroom, piped with hot and cold 
water. 

He took his noon meal with Slim, Butch, and Redeye. 
Older Kay Kay men were riding herd on the newly arrived 
feeders. The trail punchers had orders to loaf for the rest 
of the day. Tyrrel sought his bunk. 

Towards sundown old Jake wakened him. 

“ Curry off your burs, kid,” he said. “ Miss Gerdy says 
you’re to feed at the bosses’ manger.” 

Tyrrel had already drawn on the commissary for a change. 
He went shopping again. After that he worked on his trail- 
scuffed boots until they shone like black satin. 

In the hot glare of sunset he found the garden of the inner 
patio a cool little paradise. At its center an old fountain 
of rough-hewn stone spouted clear water. Fruit laden peach 
and pear trees cast grateful shade. A mocking bird trilled 
and warbled in the upper branches. Beds of choice roses 
gladdened the eye and sweetened the air with their perfume. 

145 


146 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


A neat housemaid led him between the lower pillars of the 
two-storied veranda into the modernly furnished old sala. 
He found himself facing the family, all of whom were no less 
modernly furnished, in city style. Keith and Welsh wore 
tuxedos. The girls were in dinner gowns — that is, as much 
in as fashion permitted. 

The unexpectedness of it all hit Tyrrel like a jab between 
the eyes. But he did not trip over his feet. Neither did 
he slip on the polished hardwood floor. He could skate and 
dance. Sight of the flesh-colored patch on the upper part of 
Welsh’s left ear restored his mental balance. 

With no slightest betrayal of embarrassment, he stepped 
forward to meet the hospitable hand of Keith. Somehow he 
failed to look out of place even side by side with the tuxedo. 
His new blue overalls, folded half way up his boot tops, had 
a tailor-like crease from the packing case. They were belted 
to his slim waist with a narrow silver-buckled strap. His 
silk shirt, soft collar and tie might have been borrowed from 
his older host. They were, in fact, part of one of Keith’s 
personal purchases, left by mistake in the commissary. 

He had already quite forgotten his own clothes. Pilar, 
with black eyes aglow, came dancing to meet him on the tiny 
toe tips and preposterously high heels of her very fashionable 
slippers. Her scarlet lips curved in a Cupid’s bow as she 
smiled. For the moment her child-like prettiness entirely 
filled Tyrrel’s eye. With her flame-colored dress and high- 
piled black hair topped with a diamond-studded old Spanish 
comb, she looked like a fairy imitation of Carmen. 

“Buenos noches, mi dulce campeador! ” she greeted him. 
“I’m going to reward you for forcing your canteen upon 
me and Don Senor. You’re to be my partner, so that I can 
give you my grapefruit and sherbet.” 

“ Couldn’t think of robbing you, Miss Chavez. I 5 ve been 
eating lemons all afternoon.” 



Dress and Redress 


147 


As Tyrrel spoke he drew the girl about to where Gerda 
sat waiting beside her hard-faced, stiffly erect second partner. 
Welsh was in an ill mood. He did not relish the presence of 
the contest rider in the family circle of the Kay Kay, and 
he made no effort to conceal the fact. 

Tyrrel, however, had no trouble in ignoring his rival. The 
real difficulty would have been to turn his eyes and attention 
from Gerda. It was the first time he had seen her in any 
other dress than her riding skirt and the motoring costume 
she had worn at the rodeo. 

The fine silk of her stockings enhanced the shapeliness of 
her ankles. Her graceful shoulders were milk white. The 
diamond pendant of her emerald necklace flashed on her snowy 
bosom below the beauty hollow at the base of her strong 
round throat. 

Her gown left in Tyrrel’s mind no more than a blurred 
impression of artistry and costliness. He realized but vaguely 
how its pale gold heightened the rich color of her cheeks and 
the golden gloss of her hair. His only clear perception was 
that her gray-green eyes were sparkling with a cold bril¬ 
liancy like that of the emeralds in her necklace. 

As he met their half-mocking gaze the truth flashed upon 
him. She had chosen to put him to this cruel test. She 
had deliberately planned to flaunt in his face the contrast 
between her wealth and his poverty. His overalls had been 
invited into the parlor to realize their cottonness alongside 
the sheen of silk. He smiled. She herself had once derided 
him for being afraid of a girl’s money. 

“Good evening, Miss Keith. It was most kind of you to 
ask me to dine with the family.” 

“You’ve been a dude-wrangler,” accused Welsh. 

“Guilty, sir. It’s a very pretty string of green glass 
you’re wearing, Miss Keith—and the gold effects. Makes 
me think of that treasure up in Tabru — the gold and 



148 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


emeralds.” 

“Which aren’t there!” 

Tyrrel’s face lengthened. 

“ It’s not polite to contradict a lady. But at least they 
were there during your visit. Emeralds in her eyes and gold 
in her hair ; teeth of pearl ’twixt ruby lips — priceless treasure 
from Tabru!” 

The confusion was not his but Gerda’s. The rose in her 
cheeks deepened. Her eyes wavered and sank. The prim 
voice of the maid announcing that dinner was served made 
welcome diversion for her mistress. Welsh aggressively 
offered his arm. Tyrrel’s eyes twinkled as he followed the 
couple with Pilar. He had scored. 

Throughout the meal his partner devoted all her smiles 
and pretty arts of coquetry to him. She talked vivaciously 
about flowers and jewels, thanked him extravagantly for 
giving his canteen to her and her guardian, and no less 
extravagantly praised the skill and courage that he had 
shown at the rodeo. 

She was deaf to the remarks of Keith, at her other elbow, 
and blind to the warning glances of Gerda. Tyrrel followed 
her airy lead with frank enjoyment. Now and then he 
referred some point of the talk to Gerda, blandly oblivious 
to her coolness. Welsh sought to start a conversation with 
her, and succeeded no better. 

But with the dessert the mistress of the Kay Kay roused 
to action. Before Pilar realized what was happening, Tyrrel 
had been taken away from her. With cool mastery, Gerda 
held possession of the guest. He was only too willing 
to talk to her. No less imperiously, she brought her rather 
dejected brother into the conversation, and after him the 
heavily reluctant Welsh. Pilar was left solitary in the midst 
of the crowd. 

With the coffee the younger girl somehow found herself 



Dress and Redress 


149 


paired off with her guardian. Gerda was devoting all her 
attention to Welsh and Tyrrel. Her beautiful eyes glinted 
and flashed and sparkled as she played them against each 
other. Very adroitly she inflamed their rivalry and antag¬ 
onism yet kept Welsh in check. 

The moment Tyrrel perceived her game he covered his dis¬ 
like of the big man under a show of good-humored tolerance. 
This served only to increase Welsh’s resentment. His ill- 
feeling threatened to burst into open eruption. He had 
become a smouldering volcano of jealousy. 

Gerda smiled and put out a restraining hand to him as 
she rose from the table. 

“ Don’t bother, Mat. Have another cup of coffee. Pilar 
will pour it for you. I’ll have Dick help me sort out the 
dance records.” 

Welsh dropped down again in his chair. But his cold blue 
eyes followed Tyrrel out with a look far from pleasant. 
In the sola Tyrrel spoke with blunt directness. 

“What’s the idea? He already hated me like poison.” 

The sparkle of the girl’s eyes flashed into scorn. 

“Want to quit?” 

He caught her hand and skated her across the floor to 
the cabinet phonograph. His first act was to cull out and 
stow away the jazz records brought south by Pilar. 

“ When I dance with you I want real music,” he said. 

They were waltzing to the melodious old Language of 
Flowers when the others came in. 

With Pilar, Tyrrel skipped and whirled around the big 
room like a lively schoolboy. She recommended his style to 
Keith, who immediately became all the more precise and 
orderly in his steps and reverses. 

Gerda danced, turn about, with the rivals, equally gracious 
to each. But she did not lessen Welsh’s jealousy by her 
remark that Tyrrel was the better dancer. 



150 _ Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


A full hour before midnight she broke up the party with 
curt decisiveness. 

“Bed time for you, Pilar. You haven’t yet caught up 
from the drive. Take a smoke with Donnie, Mat. I want 
to show Dick how the patio looks by moonlight.” 

Welsh turned and went off up the old stairway, his face 
as expressionless as a granite mask. Regardless of Gerda’s 
order, Pilar put on another waltz. But Keith wiped his 
spectacles and bald head and peered after his partner with 
a troubled look. 

His sister took Tyrrel’s arm and started for the veranda. 
Her eyes shone like her emeralds. Out in the moonlight their 
hard brightness seemed to warm and soften. She led Tyrrel 
from the colonnade, around the black shadow of a tree,, to 
the jetting, tinkling fountain. Beside their elbows bloomed 
a bed of American Beauties. Gerda breathed deep, drinking 
in the delicious odor of the roses. 

“What do you say to this, Dick? Harem garden of the 
Moors, imitated by the Spaniards. Doesn’t it make you think 
of the Arabian Nights?” 

Tyrrel ransacked his memory. 

“Yes. There was that tale about a peri — one of those 
Arabian fairies. This is a little piece of paradise-—with you 
in it.” 

“An earthly paradise. Mat may prove to be the evil 
jinni 

“ Oh, him! I’ll take it back about the peri , Gerda. 
You’re more than that. You’re a glorious American girl!” 

“ So you’ve at last found your tongue,” mocked the glori¬ 
ous girl. 

He looked close into her wide unwavering eyes. 

“Have you forgotten last night, Gerda — riding, riding, 
riding, up and over and down the mesa? Black bogie shadows 
across the moonlight; the night breeze mourning through the 



Dress and Redress 


151 


pine tops; horses’ heads sagging; the drags scuffling dust. 
Hell in our throats, and heaven in our hearts! ” 

Gerda put up her strong hands and gripped his shoulders. 
“ Boy, it’s time to say good night.” 

She leaned forward and kissed him full upon the lips. 
With all his quickness, she was gone before his outflung 
arms could clasp her, 



CHAPTER XVIII 


IN THE BACK 


HE rebranding of the Lazy S Bar steers began at sun¬ 



rise. With the combined force of old ranch hands and 


new punchers, the work of putting the herd through the 
branding chutes went forward rapidly. 

Welsh had charge. Keith and old Jake kept tally. The 
girls did not come out to the corrals at any time. For this 
Tyrrel felt thankful. He knew that Gerda had not remained 
away because of any shrinking from the brutal business. 
She would take it as a matter of course. She was a cattle 
woman. Yet he did not like to think of her looking on at 
such work .... especially after what had happened in 
the moonlight, beside the fountain of the patio. 

This did not mean that he was a milksop. Welsh had told 
him off as one of the branders. With workmanlike precision 
and thoroughness, he thrust his white-hot iron through the 
spaces of the chute rails and branded the KK on the young 
steers as fast as they could be penned between the chest and 
tail bars. 

The smell of seared hair and hide, the struggles and bawls 
of the huge calves, never for a moment stayed his hand. The 
branding had to be done by someone. It was a necessary 
requirement of cattle raising. He was no shirker. 

Every brand that he burned was unblurred and deep 
enough to last the natural lifetime of a steer. The three- 
inch Lazy S Bar brands had stretched a foot or more during 
the first year and a half’s growth of the steers. The KK 
branded in by him also would stretch until the animals reached 
full growth or were shipped to market; but the letters would 


152 


In Hie Back 153 


always be neat gfi9 clear cut. He did his work well, un- 
pleasant as was the task. 

The mood of his fellow branders was different. Butch, who 
heated the irons for him and shifted the chute bars, spat 
tobacco juice at the wild eyes of the yearlings. Between 
times he shouted coarse gibes across at Slim and Redeye, 
crew of the other branding chute. 

That choice pair were having hilarious fun. They took 
turns burning brands unnecessarily deep and then jabbing 
the steers in tender spots with the corners of the hot irons. 
Their cruel sport ended only when Welsh came around and 
ordered them to cut out the trifling. He joined in their roar 
of laughter over the high jump and agonized blatt of a 
tortured yearling. But the game had slowed the run through 
their chute. Over at Tyrrel’s the steers were popping out 
into the open in rapid succession. 

As the sun mounted higher, its blistering rays by no means 
tended to lighten the labor of the branders. The three men 
from Lincoln County became morose. They cursed the steers 
and gibed at each other and Tyrrel with a growing bitterness. 

Tyrrel’s good-humored replies failed to disarm their sour 
rancour. Yet they did not quite cross the line with him. 
The quiet steadiness of his look stopped them just short of 
the unforgivable epithet. They knew he had lost his pistol. 
But a quick and angry man with a white-hot branding iron 
is no mean opponent, and they were not quite in the mood 
for murder. 

Another restraint was that Keith sang out an offer of 
twenty dollars for the crew that branded- the most steers. 
He wished to get the trail-thinned feeders out on good grass 
as soon as possible. 

Butch ceased gibing at his mate and fell to work with a 
will. When the last steer of the herd was run through, out 
of the big corral, the tally of Tyrrel’s chute stood forty-three 




154 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


over five hundred. 

“Not so bad,” Keith remarked to his partner when he 
had checked up old Jake’s tally and added the total to his 
own. “Only six short of the full thousand. You must have 
started from the Lazy S Bar with the excess number as tallied 
by Gerda, or else the strays from the stampede were fewer 
than we have figured.” 

“ Old Jacarilla was dead sure of rustling a big bunch from 
us on the trail. That’s why he threw in the extras at the 
delivery,” replied Welsh. “It’s the sure proof he schemed 
with Tyrrel. I tell you, Don, that slick Dick started the 
stampede.” 

“Nonsense, Mat. Gerda saw that thunderbolt strike into 
the herd.” 

“And I saw him use his gun to jump the rush into a full 
stampede. Only thing, he failed to head the steers back 
over the hills to Jacarilla. They took their own route — ran 
clear away from the Lazy S Bar outfit — fooled the rustlers.” 

“Mat, you’re riding for a fall. Can’t you see it’s just 
Gerda’s idea of good sport, setting you and the boy at each 
other’s throats? She doesn’t realize .... you’ve been 
a good friend and partner, Mat. Stop and think what this 
will come to, if you don’t get yourself in hand. With not 
a shred of evidence against him that would hold water in 
the courts, you’ve accused the boy of rustling; you’ve shot 
to kill him. There at Tabru, when he stood unarmed and 
hands up, you would have shot him or lynched him.” 

Welsh did not give ground an inch. 

“He’s a sneak and a rustler.” 

“You mean, you’re mad with jealousy because Gerda 
favors the boy.” 

“ I’ve sized up the snake. It’s not rustling alone. You’d 
better ride herd a bit closer on Pilar.” 

Keith went white about the nostrils. 



In the Back 


155 


“That will do, Welsh. When I wish advice from out¬ 
siders on my family affairs, I will ask for it. For another 
thing, I have no wish to continue in partnership with a man 
who contemplates murder — no, don’t try to deny it. That 
is what it amounts to. You will give me your promise to 
leave the boy alone, or I will put you out of the Kay Kay, 
as provided in the partnership agreement.” 

“ Dammit, you’d not do that! ” 

“ It is that or your promise. You’re a first-rate cowman. 
You’ve helped the Kay Kay. But this is not a matter of 
cows or money. I’ll have no man near my sister who shoots 
on suspicion — to get rid of a rival.” 

Welsh failed to out stare the gray eyes behind the shell- 
rimmed spectacles. He took thought. Donald Keith was a 
very genial, very mild man. But no one had ever known him 
to back up, once he ceased to smile. There was the chance 
that Gerda’s contrariety could be played upon. She might 
leave the Kay Kay with the outgoing partner, just because 
her brother chose to put him out. It was, however, a long 
shot to play. No one could count upon the girl’s moods. 
Welsh capitulated — with mental reservations. 

“All right, dammit! I back up. If you want to nurse the 
sneak, I’ll consider him your lammie babe. When you find 
out that I’m right about him, and things come to a show¬ 
down, I’ll give him first draw. Is that enough?” 

“ Yes — if you mean it.” 

Keith faced about and walked off between the chutes to 
where the branding crews were waiting for the irons to cool. 
He handed Butch and Tyrrel each a pair of five-dollar bills 
and stalked back past Welsh. He was a man very hard 
to anger. But Welsh, only slightly aware of what he was 
doing, had seared the very soul of his partner with a white- 
hot branding iron: The brand spelled “Pilar” 

Back at Butch’s scattered fire, Slim and Redeye were 



156 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


sidling up to Tyrrel. 

“Le’s have a look at that long green, buddy,” suggested 
Slim. “Reckon Goggle-Eyes figgered on it being split four 
ways — a five-spot all round. Red and me’ll take over the 
two he handed you for us, and you can collect yourn from 
Butch.” 

Tyrrel smiled and half raised his hands. 

“ Here are two fives. Which of you will have which? Take 
your choice. You can both collect them at one and the same 
time if you prefer.” 

In some manner a rumor of what had happened to Welsh 
at Tabru had leaked out. None of the three gunmen knew 
how to use his fists or wished to learn. They drew back 
from Tyrrel. Butch jeered his prizeless mates. 

“ Why don’t you call his bluff and rake in the pot ? A pair 
of sixes beats a pair of fives any old day.” 

The smile remained on Tyrrel’s lips but left his eyes. He 
might have been able to jump one of the gunmen, as he had 
jumped Welsh, before the fellow could draw. But two pistols 
were impossible odds. Also, Butch was quite capable of 
shooting him in the back. And Welsh was approaching. It 
was a nasty corner. All the other men had gone off with 
the herd. The chutes and corral had him penned in on three 
sides. 

Redeye appealed to Welsh with a devilish mockery of 
righteous indignation. 

“ Oh, kind sir, make this stiff come through. Glass-Lamps 
entrusted him with our hard-earned pay, and he’s done gone 
and embezzled it.” 

“Just Mr. Keith’s mistake, boys. Here are yours,” said 
Welsh. He gave a ten-dollar bill to Slim and another to 
Redeye, and nodded to Tyrrel without a trace of expression 
on his big sunburnt face. “ I’ll ask you to take the irons to 
the blacksmith shop. Some of them need straightening.” 



In the Back 


157 


Tyrrel walked out of the trap, no less amazed and puzzled 
over his escape than were the disappointed trio. He passed 
beyond earshot before Welsh spoke again. 

“No more hazing in the open. Savvy?” 

The friends of his boyhood knew him better than did the 
Kay Kay. His poker face told them that he had sat into 
a game that meant high stakes. 

“ What 3 ^ou say goes with us, Mat,” agreed Redeye. 
“We’re wised up. Stack the cards to suit yourself. We’re 
here to play ’em for you.” 

“Are you here, or are you on your wa} r ? That’s the first 
question, boys. The drive is ended. Keith does most of 
the hiring and firing. You bunglers managed somehow to 
rile Miss Keith, morning after the stampede.” 

Slim hastened to wriggle clear. 

“I got my alibi. Was way back, rounding up the herd.” 

“ Butch and me didn’t do nothing,” Redeye no less hastily 
sought cover. “ Butch just happened to squint towards the 
little one.” 

Welsh turned his cold gaze upon the slowest-witted of the 
men. 

“ Miss Keith and her cousin are ladies.” 

The look that went with the bare statement wrung an 
abject mumble from Butch. He cringed. In years past, 
Welsh had more than once beaten him like a dog. 

“‘Ladies’ it is, Mat,” wheedled Slim. “Stick in a good 
word for us with the lady boss. We’re backing your game 
to the limit.” 

Welsh’s eyes glinted. 

“I’ll remember that.” 

He went direct from the corral to the casa. As he ex¬ 
pected, he found Keith and Gerda in the office. The girl 
met him with a smile that told she knew nothing about his 
dispute with her brother. She smoothed the silk folds of 



158 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


her sage-green afternoon dress. 

“ Been having a good, lazy siesta with Pilar,” she said. 
“Just came down to hear Donnie’s report. I’m mightily 
relieved. Only six head short of an actual thousand! ” 

“It’s not the trifling loss in numbers,” replied her brother., 
“ What hits us hard is the shrinkage. In the stampede alone 
they ran off thousands of pounds. The extra day without 
water and the additional miles of trailing increased the 
shrinkage fifty per cent.” 

Gerda’s head went up. 

“ Charge it to my account. I forced the deal. The loss 
is on me.” 

“No, on that night storm — and that fellow Tyrrel,” put 
in Welsh. 

Keith forestalled his sister’s angry reply. 

“ We’ll come to Tyrrel in a minute. The storm alone was 
to blame. It alone is chargeable with the loss. Worst of it 
all, not a drop fell over on our side of the mesa. Bad sign — 
the rains are apt to be late.” 

“ That means we’ll need plenty of riders,” said Welsh. 
“With all these feeders, we can use more, anyway. May 
have to rush them to leased range. Strikes me, it will be as 
well to hang onto those three old-time side-kicks of mine.” 

The play was shrewd. More riders really would be desir¬ 
able and might become necessary. He had classified the 
three punchers, not as strangers or mere hands, but as his 
friends. No less shrewdly, he had put the matter as a sug¬ 
gestion, not as a demand. 

Gerda’s generous mouth relaxed in a half smile. 

“Well, I’m free to admit I don’t like the fellows. But 
they can ride. I’ve no complaint to make against their 
work.” 

“ Two new men will be enough,” said her brother. “ We’ll 
lay off that fat-faced one — Butch.” 



In the Back 


159 


“Where’s your arithmetic, Donnie? One from four leaves 
three. Don’t forget Dick.” 

“ I haven’t. He goes — for the same reason as Butch.” 

“ Indeed? What may that be? ” 

With the white, pinched look about his nostrils that had 
checked Welsh, Keith very quietly answered with a single 
word- 

“ Pilar.” 

For a moment Gerda’s beautiful eyes clouded with doubt 
and suspicion. Then she caught the glint of exultance that 
Welsh could not entirely mask. Her red lips curved in a 
disdainful smile. 

“ So that’s it, Mat! You’d pair Butch with Dick! You’re 
jvilling to shuck off the most worthless of your three, in order 
to get rid of my one.” 

Welsh stood his ground. 

“ I don’t want to shuck off any of them. Butch meant no 
harm. He can’t help it having a squint.” 

“If that is so, I am willing to keep on all three,” said 
Keith. 

“All four! ” amended his sister. 

“ I said three. Keep your temper, Gerda. This time Mat 
votes with me. The child is too young to be blamed. But 
Tyrrel is not.” 

Gerda chuckled. 

“Poor little kitten — with cactus claws! But she’s safe 
now.” 

“ How?” 

“Wait and hear. I’ll have him tell you at dinner.” 

“ The fellow shall not sit at table with Pilar — and you — 
again.” 

“Don’t be so sure of that, Donnie. I run the house. 
What’s more, he stays on the Kay Kay, whether or not you 
keep Mat’s gunmen.” 




160 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Not the girl’s determination, but his innate sense of fair 
play suspended her brother’s decision. After all, the accused 
had not yet been given a chance to meet the charges against 
him. 

" I will listen to what the man has to say.” 

“You certainly will — and Mat will too.” 



CHAPTER XIX 


queen’s choice 

T HE second invitation to dinner put Tyrrel into a glow 
and at the same time flustered him. He became acutely 
conscious of the incongruity of his dinner costume. Some¬ 
how, after what Gerda had done, there in the patio garden, 
he had lost his unconcern over his dress. Though a man can 
no more than do — and wear — his best, he went to meet her, 
inwardly quaking. 

He found all but one of the family dressed no less formally 
than on the first evening. The exception was Gerda. She 
still wore her sage-green afternoon frock. The dress was 
artistic and expensive, but it was not a dinner gown. 

Tyrrel sensed the distinction, and rallied from his blue 
funk. But the cool indifference of the girl’s manner checked 
his delight. She betrayed no slightest trace that she remem¬ 
bered the kiss. As on the previous evening, she permitted 
Welsh to escort her to the table. 

Pilar had greeted Tyrrel even more coquettishly than 
before. When Keith stepped between them and drew her arm 
under his own with brusque authority, she pouted and 
beckoned Tyrrel around to her other side, so that she entered 
the dining-room between both men. 

At table she at once turned her dimpled shoulder on her 
guardian and started to flirt with Tyrrel. Gerda saw the 
distress of her brother, and promptly broke up the game of 
the little coquet. Throughout the meal her wit and will 
compelled even Pilar to share in the general conversation. 

In return for his sister’s support, Keith restrained him¬ 
self until the coffee had been served. His concern would not 

161 


162 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


let him wait any longer. He broke in at the first pause. 

“ Pardon me, Gerda, but dinner is nearly over. How about 
that matter you said Tyrrel would clear up?” 

Gerda smiled and reached out her left hand across the 
corner of the table to Tyrrel. Too surprised even to con¬ 
jecture what this might mean, yet quick to respond, he clasped 
the hand. She cast a half-mocking side glance at Welsh, and 
spoke to her brother. 

“ You see, Donnie, there’s no grounds for what you fancied. 
Dick is engaged to me.” 

From Pilar burst a little shriek of amazement that sounded 
like delight but ended in a pout. Welsh slowly rose to his 
feet, his face flushing a dark red. 

“If you mean this for a joke, Gerda,” he said, “it’s a 
mighty raw one.” 

“Indeed? Well, I did not count on it bringing a laugh 
from you.” 

“No, the real joke is that prize you’ve drawn. 'Did Red¬ 
eye tell you how the man you’ve picked, rolled in the dust 
with sheep-herders to grab the measly ten-dollar stake of the 
greasers’ sack race?” 

The girl’s broad eyebrows peaked with mock distress. 

“ I hadn’t heard of that. Why, he seemed to’ve had a 
regular epidemic of top-stakes winning — caught first money 
pretty nearly all around.” 

“That’s the word — money!” said Welsh. “He can ride 
and he can rope. Admitted. But that greaser race showed 
him up for what he really is. He’d sell his grandmother’s 
teeth to get two bits.” 

Tyrrel gazed pensively across at the gold tooth exposed 
by the up-drawn corner of the big man’s lip. 

“ I’m so sorry, but you’re very sadly mistaken, Mr. Welsh. 
I haven’t any grandmother. Even if I had, she’d have no 
teeth; and if I had and she had, it wouldn’t pay me to sell 



Queen’s Choice 


163 


’em, because she wouldn’t have any gold ones. They’re out 
of style.” 

Welsh abruptly left the table and the room, without asking 
to be excused. In the blank pause that followed his going, 
T3^rrel smiled at Gerda and she smiled at her brother. He 
peered from her to the pouting Pilar, and then at Tyrrel, 
with more of doubt than of concern in his look. 

“ You must realize this means one less partner in the Kay 
Kay, Gerda.” 

“ I’m not asking him to quit, Donnie. But he is welcome 
to do so if he wishes. Come, Dick.” 

“ Just a moment. Tyrrel, my sister will marry whatever 
man she chooses, regardless of what I think. But if he is 
worthy of her, he will be the kind who values the approval 
of his wife’s brother. I’d like you to name your references — 
if you have any.” 

“ I have two kinds, Mr. Keith. Which do you prefer? I’ll 
give you samples of each. Group A includes such as Ante, 
Miss Flora Macintyre, old Jake, Jacarilla Howbert, Lobo, 
and my fiancee. In Group B I’ll put Mr. Welsh and his three 
of a kind.” 

“ That’s trifling-” 

“No, sir. Their opinion of me is a first-rate recommenda¬ 
tion. I count upon being loved for the enemies I have made.” 

“You have told me only what we already know,” snapped 
Keith. “Who are you? What have you done? What is 
your family?” 

Gerda flushed and broke in hotly: 

“Mind your own business, Donnie! If I’m satisfied with 
Dick, that settles it.” 

“Please, ma’am!” pleaded Tyrrel. “He asks what I’ve 
done. Please can’t I brag?” 

The humorous twinkle in his eyes checked her anger. She 
could not repress a smile. On the instant he rattled into a 




164 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


get-it-all-out-in-one-breath recital : 

“ I’ve beaten carpets ; I’ve beaten my way; I’ve beaten some v 
bunco games and a few fair-to-middling light-heavyweights. 
I’ve shot craps, lumber chutes, and deer out of season. I’ve 
ridden airplanes, the rods, the water-wagon, ’most everything 
on four legs, and some on two. And now I’ve ridden you of 
Mr. Welsh’s present company.” 

Keith met this banter with biting sarcasm. 

“Very humorous — very! If your family is in keeping 
with your achievements, we’ll know what to think of them.” 

“ Can’t prove it by me,” said Tyrrel. “ I haven’t any. 
Like Napoleon, I’m mostly my own ancestors. My earliest 
recollection is trying to stick on a bucking burro. Was then 
a three-year-old, going on four. I didn’t pull leather. But 
the barkeep who had backed me to win, kicked my back 
because I took a spill. Our youthful hero had no fond mother 
to wipe away his tears and kiss quiet his cusses.” 

The mirth-sparkling eyes of Gerda suddenly glistened into 
dewy softness. 

“ O-oh, Dick! ” she murmured. 

His hand tightened its clasp, but he rattled on in the same 
tone of light raillery: 

“I missed out on the maternal slipper and the paternal 
belt. But I had enough quirting to toughen my hide. Cow¬ 
man who gathered me in as a maverick was an old-line Scotch 
Presbyterian — didn’t believe in sparing the rod. He has 
gone to his just reward.” 

“Then you have no family?” Keith caught at the grain 
in the chaff. 

“ Not what you mean. Used to fancy myself the lost prince 
or the wandering heir. All turned out to be free air and wan¬ 
dering prints. No glamor — no romance. Happened to run 
across that old barkeep six years ago. Pounded the truth 
out of him. My father was an engineer. Came to Colorado 



Queen's Choice 


165 


for his health. Married a nester’s daughter. Snowslide wiped 
out ranch and all. Barkeep was hunting rabbits. Found 
me on top the slide, with forty feet of busted jack-pines, 
cabin logs and snow under me. Biggest ride I ever made.” 

44 That’s enough,” murmured Gerda. 

She rose and led him out into the patio. Behind them 
Keith irritably mopped his bald head. He polished his 
glasses. As he replaced them he met the intent, somber gaze 
of Pilar’s black eyes. His frown smoothed out. 

“ It is up to Gerda now. She is the one who will have 
to pay for her willfulness. At least it saves me the necessity 
of sending you back to the convent.” 

The black eyes went hot with chagrin. 

“Is that all you have to say? First Gerda, then you! 
She’s a selfish pig! She knows I don’t want Mat, he’s just 
the right kind for her! If I had wanted him, he would have 
been her choice. Now of course she has to rope the only 
other man on the ranch! ” 

Keith winced as if struck on a raw sore. He jumped up 
and left the room even more abruptly than had Welsh. 
Pilar watched him out with bitter scorn in her wide eyes. 
She thrust clear of the table and stamped her little foot so 
hard that the giddy heel of the slipper snapped off. Then 
she flung herself down in a chair and wept. 

Out in the garden Gerda would have led across to the stone 
bench at the far side of the fountain. Tyrrel stopped her 
under the pear tree. She sought to push past him. He put 
his arm about her and held fast with a strength that she 
could not have overcome even if she had really tried. 

44 Glory Girl, wait. Last night you gave me something 
that I’ll have to return!” 

She met his kiss with a delight as intense as his own. 

44 You D’Artagnan boy! Only one now. Remember, I’m 
the queen.” 



166 _ Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“And I’m Your Majesty’s humble — no, I’ll be damned if 
I’m humble. I’m proud as a peacock. I’ve been picked up 
by the queen for prince consort. I salute Her Majesty!” 

Instead of waiting to receive the kiss, Gerda caught his 
face between her hands and, with generous warmth, gave the 
salute to him. 

“There,” she said. “Now come and pick me a bunch of 
roses.” 

They drifted out from the shadow of the pear tree and 
across to the moon-silvered bed of American Beauties. Tyrrel 
had no knife with him. Regardless of thorns, he broke off 
a dozen or more of the big long-stemmed buds. No less heed¬ 
less of the thorns, Gerda clasped the sheaf to her softly 
heaving bosom. 

“Now we’ll sit down, and you’ll tell me about yourself, 
Richard Cceur de Lion. I can do without the telling, but 
you can’t.” 

“You’re a wise woman! There’s little enough to tell. I 
dodged the draft by sneaking into the Marines before the 
conscription law could be passed. Got roped off the trans¬ 
port just before she left her corral. Had applied for the 
Air. Broke in. Tenth time up, a broken wing broke my 
arm and collarbone. Got shipped West with a gassed Major 
to buy mules. That’s as near as I came to getting over.” 

“But your record gets over with me, Dick.” 

“You haven’t heard the worst of it. Last season the 
cattle outfit of which I was foreman sold out to an irrigation 
project. The promoters let us all in on the ground floor — 
and out through the cellar. I had staked everything on 
the deal — bunch of cows, home, all my cash. Bottom 
dropped out of the cattle market, down onto the crashed 
project. That’s how I came to turn up at the rodeo with 
Ante and a rope.” 

“And you put your rope on me! Boy, my heart hopped 



Queen's Choice 


167 


right over Butch’s longhorn that you spilled just one jump 
short of Donnie. Whoa! Back up. There’s still one more 
fence to cut. Who’s Miss Flora Macintyre?” 

“ My first and only real lady-love before I met-up with the 
Kay Kay. Sandy Macintyre was the man who quirted me 
along the straight and narrow way. Flora supplied the 
salve and jam. She’s a darling — and she’s going on seventy. 
Luckily, I managed to cash in for enough to buy her a livable 
annuity when I joined the Marines. I’m to send for her, 
soon as I get my own roof over me.” 

“That need not be long, Dick. She shall have Pilar’s 
rooms — next to ours.” 

Tyrrel’s response to this was not made in words. 



CHAPTER XX 


HAZARDOUS PLAYS 

P ILAR did not come down to breakfast. Gerda rode off 
with Tyrrel and her brother, to put in the day inspect¬ 
ing the drought-shrunken water-holes. 

At lunch time hunger dragged the younger girl out of her 
seclusion. She had treated her face with artistic skill. But 
Welsh’s blue eyes were keen as steel. Under the girl’s make-up 
they perceived traces that betrayed the night of weeping. 

He curtly dismissed the maid and started to serve the 
meal in grave silence. Pilar’s forced gaiety won from him 
only a look of sympathetic concern that deepened into com¬ 
miseration. She gave over the attempt at mirth. 

“What a killjoy you are!” she complained. “Your face 
is long as a mule’s.” 

“Don’t expect me to feel frisky, do you—any more than 
you do yourself? You poor little girl! It’s a dirty shame. 
Looks like we’re mired down in the same slough.” 

“The Slough of Despond!” Pilar sought to mock his 
mournful tone. 

“You’ve said it. Looks like we’re in to stick unless we 
can manage to pull each other out. Help me get back my 
girl, and I’ll help you get him. If you won’t, I’ll get her 
anyway, and he vamoses 

“You mean, you’ll drive him off?” 

“I mean, I’ll get rid of him for keeps. Savvy? All the 
same, I’ll not throw him hard if you sit into the game with 
me. Gerda is always rubbing your fur the w r rong way. My 
guess is that this putting of her brand on your maverick has 
made you fighting mad. Be my little side-kick, and we’ll 

168 


Hazardous Plays 


169 


both win out.” 

The girl’s eyes burned with resentment behind the fringe 
of their long lashes. 

“ How can you do it ? ” 

“Easy as shooting. How about that well-known pride of 
Gerda’s? All you need do is make her think he’s still after 
you — that he’s still wearing your colors — under his shirt, 
so to speak.” 

“All I need do? So I’m to pull your chestnuts out of the 
fire! ” 

“ She’d savvy in a flash if I played the cards. All we’d get 
would be a laugh from both of them. Come on. Be a sport. 
Don told me she’s willing I should stay in the Kay Kay. 
But unless she gives him up and takes me, there’s not room 
enough for both of us between the mesa and the Rio Grande. 
He goes, or I go. I’m betting on myself to stay.” 

“But you’d let him alone — you’d be decent to him — if 
Gerda accepted you?” 

“Yes. You can have him, and welcome — warranted all 
sound in wind and limb. I’m not aching to give him a red 
shirt unless I have to.” 

“ That’s a boho lie, Mat Welsh. But it does not matter'. 
If I have my way when I’m married, I’ll live in another state 
from you and Gerda.” 

Welsh smiled sourly. 

“ Guess that will suit everybody all around. You best start 
off by letting him know that your pile stacks up sizably 
higher than Gerda’s. That’ll head him back your way.” 

“ Don’t tell me how to play my own hand, you fourflusher! ” 

The indignant outburst was met by Welsh with a grim 
smile. 

“It’s not a four-flush I’ve dealt you. If you don’t win 
him from Gerda, I’ll know you’re capping for his game. In 
that case-” 




170 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


The big man broke off with a significant narrowing of his 
eyes. Pilar whitened. Her dread-stiffened lips faltered. 

“ Wh-what — do you — mean ? ” 

He laughed harshly as he heaved himself up from the table. 

“ What d’you suppose, chiquita senorita? I take it, we’re 
both out to win. I know I am — and I will. You have your 
chance to save your campeador some trouble.” 

“I — will try,” murmured the girl. 

Welsh nodded and left the room in hearty good humor. 

About this time Keith, Gerda, and Tyrrel were eating their 
cold lunch twenty miles away, under the shade of a big cotton¬ 
wood, at the farthest Kay Kay water-hole. 

On farther to the south, opposite the end of the Chupadera 
Mesa, the Sierra Oscuro towered into the turquoise sky like 
a mass of purple-blue mist. But neither brother nor sister 
joined Tyrrel in his admiration of the beautiful “obscure” 
mountains. They were intent upon the vital question of 
grass and water. 

Streams which during the rains would flow strong down 
their arroyos, had long since dried up in the drought months 
of spring and summer. Some of the pools scattered along 
their course still held good water. Others were no more than 
sloughs of greenish slime. Still others, like the general run 
of the channels, had gone bone dry. Wind-blown sand was 
filling the cracks of the caked mud in their bottoms. 

Gerda spoke impatiently to Tyrrel. 

“Forget the dream hills. Tell us what you think of our 
range.” 

“It looks better than I expected. Pretty closely grazed 
off along the streams. But the boys tell me there’s still good 
grass out near your line fences. I judge you’ll have enough 
water to skimp through, even if the rains hold off the full 
month that Mr. Keith expects.” 

“ That’s not the point,” said Keith. “ It is like that stam- 



Hazardous Plays 


171 


pede. We’ll lose few head but much weight. Alkali scum and 
a long range-out for grass don’t put much beef on feeders.” 

66 They’ll pick up fast when conditions get better,” pre¬ 
dicted Tyrrel. “ Mixed stuff is a guess. But you always can 
count on Her’fords, give ’em half a chance.” 

“What if they do not get that?” 

“ Why, then, if your bank balance or your bankers will let 
you carry them, hold over, on the gamble that this present 
demand for light beef will shift to a market for two-year- 
olds.” 

“You’ve said it, Dick!” cried Gerda. “No playing safe. 
We’ll gamble for high stakes.” 

Her brother stood up, with that queer pinched look about 
his nostrils. 

“I see another split in the partnership. Mat is already 
as good as pushed out. Now you set the opinion of a — a 
floating broncho buster against my judgment. Do you 
imagine I will stand for that?” 

“ If Mat elects to pull out, I’ll not weep, Donnie. Dick is 
as good a cowman, or better. We’ll make him foreman. He 
ran a big cattle outfit up in Colorado.” 

“ Ran it into the ground,” snapped Keith. “ Successful 
managers of big outfits are not apt to quit their jobs to 
become professional rodeo riders.” 

Before Gerda could find words for her anger, the wrathful 
little man swung up on his horse. 

“Here’s where we part,” he called over his shoulder, and 
he spurred his horse into a lope. 

Gerda started after him, her anger chilling into perplexity 
and distress. 

“ What can have come over him? It’s not at all like Donnie 
to fly off the handle.” 

“All my fault, no doubt,” said Tyrrel. “Welsh of course 
has set him against me. I made it worse with my fool blatter 



172 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


last night when he asked for references. But how could I 
talk sense when my peerless peri had just put her hand in 
mine and lifted me up into paradise — into the seventh 
heaven? Your brother should have known I was half 
delirious.” 

“He wouldn’t understand it, Dick, even if we told him. 
He’s too cautious. He’s always trying so hard never to give 
way to any emotion — always that ‘play safe — play safe.’ 
Thanks be, I’m not like that! ” 

She clamped her arm about Tyrrel’s throat and pulled 
him over backwards to plant a resounding kiss on his up-tilted 
chin. 

“There! That’s Gerda Keith for you. Play safe? Bah! 
I’m going to shove you in as foreman. If Donnie and Mat 
don’t like it, they can lump it. Only thing, you must get 
another gun. Mat may try to be ornery.” 

Tyrrel gazed off dreamily at the violet haze of the Oscuro. 

“ I’m not so sure I want the j ob, Glory Girl.” 

“You — what?” Sparks of scorn began to flick in the 
amazed gray-green eyes. “ You’d — quit — cold! ” 

“ If Welsh sticks, he would have the right to boss me. Do 
you want the man you are going to marry to take orders 
from Mat Welsh?” 

“No. I’ll take back what I said about his staying in the 
Kay Kay. He sha’n’t have his choice. I’ll put him out and 
bring you in.” 

“Thanks, no — not even the foremanship, unless your 
brother asks me. No use hitching up a team that won’t 
pull together. Look at your present partnership mixup.” 

Gerda sprang to her feet, tense with determination. 

“ You’ve said it, Dick! You heard Donnie —‘ Here’s where 
we part.’ All right. We’ll part with him and Mat Welsh 
for keeps. I’ll take my third, and you and I’ll buy a brand 
of our own.” 



Hazardous Plays 


173 


With a lithe flexing of his long body, Tyrrel brought him¬ 
self upright. He laid a quieting hand on the girl’s shoulder. 

“ Let’s think it over, Glory Girl. I have less than three 
thousand. The partnership would be too lopsided. The 
brand would have to be all in my wife’s name.” 

“ What’s mine will be yours, Dick.” 

“Not by a little bit! I’m going to marry you — not your 
money. We’ll wait and think about it. I’ve no hankering 
to hire out as my wife’s foreman. I’ve already given you my 
opinion. Woman should be boss indoors; man outdoors.” 

The girl’s shoulder wrenched free from Tyrrel’s hand. Her 
head went up. Her eyes flashed. 

“You’re starting in rather early, Mr. Tyrrel. Just as 
well, though. We’ll settle the point for good, right here and 
now. I shall be equal partner and equal boss on our range.” 

“If that doesn’t mean my equal boss bossing her equal, 
I’m willing to think it over. Only thing, equal partnership 
implies an equal investment in the business — or at least one 
not so altogether lopsided. While you’re pulling out of the 
Kay Kay, I might go off and try to dig up a bigger stake.” 

“How? There are no more riding contests on now, and 
not one chance in a hundred of your picking up another cattle 
option. You know you wouldn’t have a ghost of a show in 
a gambling hall. As for me waiting till I’m gray-headed, 
while you save up wages — thank you, no! I didn’t take you 
for a play-safer. If I’m mistaken, we’ll call it off.” 

The issue had risen sooner than Tyrrel had expected. 
Gerda was running true to form. But her beauty gripped 
him even when her eyes glinted hard and cold and her red 
lips curled with derision. He had gentled many bronchos and 
even some outlaws. Those who would not be gentled he had 
broken. 

“It will take half a month or more for you to wind up 
with the Kay Kay, Gerda. That will give me time to make 




174 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


my gamble.” 

“As how?” 

Tyrrel’s eyes twinkled. 

“ Remember that treasure Pilar told about, up at the dead 
pueblo ? ” 

“ We’re not joking. I’m telling you-” 

“ Yes, but think of all that mint — that big limestone cave 
chuck full of Aztec idols — solid gold godlets — and the 
emeralds! Just suppose it’s only a little bit true. I’d like 
mighty well to pick up a ring with one of those big green 
stones, to go with your necklace and your eyes, Glory Girl.” 

The glinting eyes softened, only to flash again with emerald 
Are. 

“ I tell you, this is no j oke! ” 

“You’ve said it,” agreed Tyrrel, his lean jaw suddenly 
hard-set. “I don’t propose to hang round the Kay Kay 
waiting for a handout from you. I’m going up there to look 
for treasure.” 

Gerda flared with scorn. 

“You’d make yourself the laughing stock of all the state! 
That hoary old treasure lie has been dragged out of its hole 
long ago. It’s as dead and dried up as the pueblo itself.” 

“Maybe I can raise a few posies on its grave. Nothing 
like trying. Who is it has been jeering at play-safers? ” 

“ But an utterly loco wild-goose chase like that! ” 

“ Oh, I’m not so sure. There’s pretty good evidence that 
some kind of treasure is, or used to be, at or near the place. 
Por another thing, I’ve no relish to loaf in the none too genial 
company of your brother and Welsh.” 

“Well, I can’t blame you for that, long as we’re going to 
pull out of the Kay Kay. Take a pasear to Socorro or 
Albuquerque and look round for a good brand that’s for sale. 
I’ll not have you getting yourself laughed at over that stale 
Aztec hoax. If you do, we break off.” 




Hazardous Plays 


175 


“ I’ll think about it,” said Tyrrel. “ Stop and think your¬ 
self. Do you want a side-partner who crawls to you?” 

The question brought the girl up short. She could not 
say yes. Yet she would not give ground an inch. Unable to 
find a ready retort, she flung herself upon Lobo and dug in 
her spurs. Tyrrel took his time in mounting. He followed 
her at a jog. 

He had put the whole matter of their relationship, present 
and future, into that question. Let her think it over. The 
treasure hunt was only a counter for the real issue between 
them. If she wanted a life partner on equal terms, well and 
good. But if she would not meet him half way — if she was 
bent upon rule or ruin — then the sooner he woke up from 
his dream of happiness the better. He would gladly give his 
hand or his life for love of her. But he would not give his 
manhood. 



CHAPTER XXI 


INNUENDO 

G ERDA missed her brother by cutting straight across 
country, regardless of the lay of the land. She ran 
Lobo all the way to the ranch. 

Work had been found for Redeye and Butch. But Slim 
was loafing away the afternoon in the cool darkness of the 
stable. Dazzled from the fierce sun glare outside, Gerda 
made out only the vague form of a man in the gloom. She 
swung open the lower half of the door and, with a slap of 
her hat, sent the hard-ridden thoroughbred lunging in towards 
his box stall. 

“Give him a good rub down,” she ordered in a tone that 
galvanized Slim out of his slouch. 

Fortunately for him, he was an expert wrangler. Gerda 
had passed on her exasperation and temper to the roan. Slim 
found himself in for a lively time, dodging Lobo’s teeth and 
hoofs. One kick grazed his leg. 

Cursing virulently, he limped out and around to the shady 
end of the stable, where he knew that old Jake was plaiting 
a horsehair bridle. He could see no sign of Ante or of Keith’s 
horse in the corral or near the casa. His snaky eyes glit¬ 
tered. The girl had ridden in alone and she had been as mad 
as a wet hen. 

“Get a move on you, gran’dad,” he said. “Miss Keith 
just turned in that crazy wolf horse. Wants he should be 
rubbed down.” 

As Jake went in to gentle the outraged thoroughbred, Slim 
clapped his saddle on a horse and streaked out for the nearest 
water-hole. Welsh was supervising repairs on the sluiceways 

176 


Innuendo 


177 


of the almost dry reservoir. He listened to Slim’s report with 
a show of indifference and promptly set the tale-bearer to 
work. 

An hour before sundown he saw a lone rider jog up the 
creek from the south. Even at that distance Keith’s enormous 
sombrero was unmistakable. Welsh leisurely mounted and 
rode in to the casa. He found Keith in the office, intently 
studying the terms of their partnership agreement. He sang 
out in a tone of bluff friendliness. 

“Well, Don, you’re back, I see. Out all day fixing up the 
new deal with Gerda and Tyrrel. All ready now to fire me, 
I take it. Well, I don’t blame you, old-timer. It’s Gerda, 
of course. If she don’t want me, I don’t want to stay in. 
Only came in, in the first place, because I wanted her.” 

Keith tapped his pencil nervously on the desk top. 

“We want a good deal, Mat, that we never get in this 
world. I myself — but that has nothing to do with this busi¬ 
ness. Here is the situation. The Kay Kay cannot buy out 
two of you at the same time. One of you will have to stick 
on for a while. But I can’t stand to be run by Gerda and 
Tyrrel together. Either she goes or I go.” 

The sharply spoken declaration gave Welsh a shaft of 
light in the darkness. Here was the explanation of Gerda’s 
return alone and in a rage. No, not a full explanation. It 
did not account for the fact that Tyrrel had come back with 
neither of them. His absence would seem to indicate that 
the girl had first quarreled with her brother and then with 
her fiance. 

Welsh replied gravely, with no sign of his inward whirl of 
exultance. 

“ I’ll side you, long as you want me to, Don; only I’ll not 
vote to put Gerda out. That’s between you two. I’ve noth¬ 
ing against her. It’s all that sneak of a buster. If only we 
could get rid of him. No use, though, me talking. Minute 




178 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


I tried to put you wise on the fellow, you went all up in the 
air.” 

44 My mistake, Mat!” Keith dropped the partnership 
agreement and mopped his head. 44 I’m ready to listen, this 
time.” 

44 But I’m not ready to talk. I’m wised now myself. The 
fellow who blabs is usually left holding the sack. I’d sooner 
lose Gerda for keeps than have her get the notion I’m a 
scandal-monger.” 

Keith’s face turned sallow gray. 

44 You’ve said too much to stop there. Go on.” 

44 No, I won’t — not even for you, Don. If the fellow took 
liberties with the little girl .... only you oughtn’t to 
blame her. It’s on him. She’s still so young. She didn’t 
know enough to stop him before he—” Welsh hesitated — 
44 Well, before he went too far. That’s all I’m going to say.” 

44 When did this happen?” 

44 I’ve said too much already, Don. Gerda will never for¬ 
give me if you let her know I told on her slick Dick. If you 
want the details, you’ll have to get Pilar to talk. I’m out 
of it.” 

He swung around and walked heavily from the office. 
Keith did not call after him. He sat very still. The minute 
hand of the office clock crept all the way around its face. 
One of the housemaids came to announce dinner. Keith told 
her very quietly that he had business matters to arrange and 
wished the others to excuse his absence from the table. 

After that no one disturbed him. When darkness came he 
lighted the desk lamp. But he made no move to go over the 
Kay Kay ledgers or papers. He sat far into the night star¬ 
ing at the top of his neat, orderly desk. 

Dinner had been a dreary meal, with Welsh silent and glum, 
and Gerda silent and haughty. Even Pilar gave over her 
show of sprightliness when the maid brought Keith’s excuses. 



Innuendo 


179 


There was no one to welcome her smiles. 

Late as Tyrrel had returned to the ranch, he had found 
no invitation waiting for him. By no means surprised, 
though somewhat disappointed, he sat down to supper with 
the other hands. Cookie’s meals were as savory as they were 
unesthetic. Hard as Slim and Redeye tried to “ scratch ” 
the dude broncho buster who had been “ throwed ” by the 
bosses, Tyrrel only smiled and called for a second helping 
of chili con came. 

Towards the end of the meal Butch became enraged over 
the failure of his buddies to get a rise out of the Coloradoan. 
He made a coarse allusion to Pilar. Before the slur had all 
left his mouth, Tyrrel’s hot prune dumpling squashed on his 
hoggish nose. 

For a moment Slim’s hand dropped below the level of the 
table. But Redeye joined in the howl of mirth that greeted 
the spluttering Butch. Slim’s hand came up empty. His 
move passed unnoticed by Tyrrel, who, plate in hand, was 
waiting for Butch to draw. 

Gailor yelled for Cookie to fetch a can of lie and scrub 
out Butch’s mouth. The suggestion met with a whoop of 
approval from the other old Kay Kay men. Instead of draw¬ 
ing to shoot Tyrrel, Butch slunk out of the mess room with 
his hand nursing his scalded nose. 

At the end of the meal lame little old Jake stumbled against 
Tyrrel and pushed him to one side, so that Slim and Redeye 
passed through the doorway ahead of them. 

“Best keep your eye peeled, kid,” he warned. “Them 
hardboiled birds wouldn’t mind a little bit doing you dirt.” 

“Not round the ranch,” said Tyrrel. “Everybody knows 
I lost my gun. My best defense while I’m here is not being 
heeled. They couldn’t claim self-defense. They haven’t nerve 
enough to gamble against the chance of being strung up.” 

“You ain’t a-going to fight ’em?” 




180 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“Not if I can help it, Jake.” 

“Hough! Didn’t take you for the kind to lay down to a 
pack of dirty hounds like them.” 

“ I aim to keep on my feet, dad. But you wouldn’t like a 
fracas round the house, would you? Ladies object to musses.” 

He left the old wrangler shaking his head, and went to turn 
in for the night. The three gunmen had started a poker 
game in the corner of the bunk room. He ignored their in¬ 
vitation for him to sit in with them. The time had come for 
him to think. 

If Gerda should not send for him before the next noon, it 
would be his move. The move must be away from the Kay 
Kay. In any event, he must leave, with or without Gerda’s 
approval. The only turn in the situation that would permit 
him to stay would be if she should make up with her brother 
and win her way with him. Let him get rid of Welsh and 
ask her fiance to remain — in that case the treasure search 
could wait a while. 

But breakfast came and passed without a word or sign 
from Gerda. He packed his bed-roll, bought a large canteen, 
and went out to give Ante a good feed of oats. 

At the breakfast table Keith had sat very quiet. He looked 
as if he had not slept well. But he showed no emotion. Gerda 
took his slight frown and abstracted manner as no more than 
signs of worry over arranging the break-up of the partner¬ 
ship. She said nothing. Her quarrel with Tyrrel had put 
her in a hole. She could not make up her mind which way 
to climb out. Love pulled her towards his side. Pride pushed 
her back. 

Welsh had little more to say. He sat glum and grim except 
now and then when he eyed Pilar with glances of fatherly pity. 

The young girl paid as little heed to him as to Gerda. 
Keith had looked at her only once since he came in, and then 
it had been merely to murmur a vague “Good morning, 



Innuendo 


181 


nina " She was trying her best to believe herself in a tragic 
mood. When not looking down at her plate she fixed her 
black eyes upon him in a somber sidelong stare. 

Behind the mask of his seeming abstraction he studied the 
girl’s every glance and turn and expression. He had brooded 
all night. Well as he knew her love of pretense — of artless 
play-acting and half earnest melodrama — he was in no mood 
to sift truth from fancy. His mind was poisoned. Welsh 
had done a thorough job. 

As they rose from the table Welsh gave her a keen look 
behind the backs of the others. She murmured pensively to 
her guardian: 

“May I speak to you about my property, Don Senor?" 

Still with that air of abstraction, he led her to the office. 

“Now, nina, what is it you wish to know?” 

“I want my money — I want to go away.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because.” 

Keith set his teeth and forced his voice to keep to the same 
low, quiet tone. 

“ Has it anything to do with that — man — Tyrrel ? ” 

She gave him a startled glance whose fright was not alto¬ 
gether make-believe. 

“I — I don’t have to tell. I won’t tell!” 

No more was needed to clinch Keith’s belief that the worst 
was true. He could not bear to hurt her with probing ques¬ 
tions. 

“ Very well, nina," he said. “ I will see what I can do, and 
will let you know as soon as possible.” 

She left the office, puzzled and pouting. Welsh was waiting 
for her around the corner of the dark cross-corridor. He 
gripped her arm. 

“What’s the word?” he demanded. 

Her scarlet lips twisted in a mocking smile. 



182 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“ Dough! He’s as full of fire as a batch of batter! ” 
With a petulant jerk, she freed her arm and flounced up 
the nearest stairway. Welsh swung around the corner into 
the main corridor — only to step back again. 

Keith was coming from the office. He walked rapidly. As 
he swung past the cross-corridor Welsh saw his face. It 
startled him. Then he smiled with grim satisfaction. He 
waited until his partner was out of sight before following. 




CHAPTER XXII 


THE MILKSOP 

K EITH did not pause until he reached the outer court. 

Tyrrel had gone to feed Ante. Only Slim lingered in 
the men’s quarters, under pretense of mending an old saddle. 
Keith gave him a sharp order to find Tyrrel and send him 
to the patio garden. 

Slim delivered the order, and tagged Tyrrel back to the 
casa. He had seen smouldering fire behind the glasses of 
the little boss. From the shadow of the great gateway he 
watched Tyrrel pass through the entrance of the garden. 
Welsh came from the nearest doorway of the casa wing and 
beckoned to him. 

Inside the smaller gateway Tyrrel found Keith waiting 
before a group of trees and bushes that masked them from 
the main building. Keith had been puffing hard at one of 
his fine Havanas. At sight of Tyrrel he stood suddenly 
rigid, with his teeth clenched on the cigar. 

“Good morning,” said Tyrrel. “I understand you sent 
for me.” 

The crunched cigar dropped from Keith’s colorless lips. 
He spat out the stub and snapped a question: 

“Are you a Catholic?” 

“No. Why?” 

“ Too bad. A dispensation takes time. I will permit no 
delay. It must be a civil marriage.” 

Tyrrel’s heart pounded against his ribs. 

“A civil .... of course! If that suits her. Anything 
that suits her!” 

Keith’s mask of calmness vanished in the flare of his white 
183 


184 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


fury. 

“You skunk! Glad to have the chance, are you? Think 
it will save you?” 

“Save me?” Tyrrel gasped. Had the once genial little 
man gone stark, raving mad? 

With a great effort Keith got a half grip on his passion. 
He must control himself. He must fight dow r n his furious 
impulse to leap on the fellow and tear at his throat. The 
good name of Pilar must first be made safe. After that- 

“Don’t think you can dupe me with your sham acting! 
You’ll marry her. Then you’ll hit out pronto — if you don’t 
want to fill a six-foot homestead.” 

Madder and madder! Tyrrel tried soothing words. 

“Why, of course I’ll marry her, Mr. Keith. As for our 
leaving, if she agrees to a real fifty-fifty arrangement-” 

“So that’s why she asked for her property? You slick 
Dick! You shall never get your greedy fingers on a dollar 
of her money, and you’ll clear out alone. I am trustee of 
her estate as well as her guardian.” 

Again Tyrrel looked his astonishment. 

“You, her guardian? But she’s of age.” 

“ Seventeen.” 

“ Impossible! She told me herself she’s twenty-two. 
You’re stark crazy!” 

“We’ll see about that. With my consent, you can get a 
license to marry her. But you cannot touch her money. It 
stays in my hands as trustee. Though a sheepman, Chavez 
was no fool. He knew her romantic artlessness would lay 
her wide ojpen to the attack of sneaking coyotes — like you! ” 

The truth flashed through the fog of Tyrrel’s bewilder¬ 
ment. 

“ Guess we’re pulling crosswise, Mr. Keith. I thought you 
were talking about Gerda.” 

“Gerda? Don’t lie to me! I know what you’ve done to 






The Milksop 


185 


Pilar! She confessed it.” 

“No?” 

“ Same thing. I put it to her, and she would not deny it.” 

“ Because there was nothing to deny. The little girl likes 
to coquet. We flirted a little for fun. It went no further. 
I’d as soon harm my little sister, if I had one.” 

“Don’t try to wriggle out of it! You are going to marry 
her at once.” 

“No, I’m not. What’s more-” 

“You refuse to marry her?” 

“Yes. I wouldn’t marry her now, not even if she her¬ 
self- 

Keith gasped as if choking. He snatched a pistol from 
under his left armpit. 

Tyrrel’s fist shot out. It jarred upon the point of Keith’s 
chin. Keith went down as if struck by a thunderbolt. He 
lay flaccid, stunned. The blow had completely knocked him 
out. 

Remembrance of what he had heard about the fallen man’s 
sunstroke stirred Tyrrel to quick action. It would not do 
to let him lie in the sun. Water and shade were both needed. 
The fountain tinkled only a few yards away. 

As he started to lift the unconscious man, the bull voice 
of Welsh bellowed in the gateway: 

“ Get him, Slim! He’s murdering — hold on! Wait! ” 

Tyrrel had whirled sideways and straightened erect, with 
the limp body of Keith held up before him. From under one 
of the arms he thrust out Keith’s small pistol. 

“ Drop your guns,” he ordered. 

Slim’s hands were already going up, empty. Welsh hesi¬ 
tated only the fraction of a second. He was too far inside 
the gate to jump back to cover. To see the man he had 
thought unarmed, not only pistol in hand, but shielded behind 
the body of his partner, disconcerted him. He dropped his 





186 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


big pistol and put up his hands. 

“That’s wise,” said Tyrrel. “Now sidle round to your 
left. Step lively, please. I want to get Mr. Keith to the 
fountain.” 

The two hastened to obey. Tyrrel followed them towards 
the fountain. He had still half a dozen steps to go when 
Gerda dashed from the veranda. She saw the drooping body 
in Tyrrel’s arms. 

“ Donnie! ” she cried. “ Dead! ” 

Before her rush brought her to them, Tyrrel had laid his 
burden down in the nearest shade and scooped a hatful of 
water from the fountain. She flung herself on her knees 
beside her brother to feel his heart. 

“Only knocked out,” said Tyrrel. “Douse of water — 
he’ll soon be all right.” 

He began to fleck water into Keith’s ghastly face. Gerda 
detected a faint heartbeat. Her fright flared into anger. 
She stared accusingly at Welsh and Slim. The gunman still 
had his hands half up. 

“Who did this? What’s that fellow doing in here?” 

“We happened to be near the gate,” answered Welsh. 
“ Heard Tyrrel quarreling with Don about — about Pilar. 
We ran in just in time to see him jump Don. He knocked 
him down and took his pistol. Looked like he meant to murder 
him.” 

“Dick? Kill Donnie!” 

The girl glared at Tyrrel in an agony of bewilderment and 
horror. His jaw set as hard as Welsh’s. 

“So that’s how much your love amounts to!” he thrust 
at her. 

Goaded by the reproach, she struck back hard. 

“It’s true! Donnie’s pistol still in your hand! You’ve 
beaten him insensible! ” 

“ One tap on the chin when he drew on me.” 



The Milksop 187 

“Bah! Donnie never drew on anyone in all his life. If he 
drew on you, it was to keep you from beating him up — you 
prizefight bully! If you didn’t do it, why are you hanging 
onto his pistol?” 

Tyrrel shoved the hilt of the pistol into her outflung hand 
and dumped the water from his hat. 

“Ask him when he wakes up. His lie is still worse. I’m 
through.” 

“Hold on!” roared Welsh. “You don’t slink off so easy. 
Don can’t tell her what you did when you beat him senseless.” 

The taunt brought Tyrrel back around on his heel. 

“ I called the bluff of a pair of fourflushers — no-no, Slim! 
As you were! Both of you keep to that side of the fountain. 
I’m two jumps nearer those guns.” 

“ Stand still yourself! ” ordered Gerda. 

She leveled her brother’s pistol at him in a hand that did 
not quiver. He smiled into her glittering eyes. 

“Look out, lady. That thing may go off.” 

“It may, but you'll not till I tell you to. Now, Mat, we’re 
listening.” 

“ It’s only a little bit of his skunk play, Gerda. I own 
up he fooled Slim and me when we thought we had him 
covered. We had the drop on him but couldn’t shoot.” 

“Why?” 

“ Simply and solely because we’d have had to shoot through 
Don. Slick Dick hid behind him — held him up, all stunned 
and helpless, to stop our bullets and save his own hide.” 

Tyrrel’s eyes widened. 

“ Good Lord! Didn’t think of that! I had him more than 
half lifted when you yelled for Slim to shoot. Couldn’t drop 
him or stop to lay him down.” 

“Pretty thin,” sneered Slim. “You had the little boss up 
by the throat, trying to beat out his brains with your pistol 
butt.” 




188 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“ That’s an open-faced lie.” 

Keith’s eyelids had fluttered and lifted. He stirred under 
Gerda’s hand. Without taking her scornful gaze from 
Tyrrel, she stood up and pointed towards the gate. 

“Enough! Either you skulked behind my brother after 
trying to murder him, or else Mat and Slim tried to murder 
you, and you lacked nerve to shoot them. I haven’t any use 
for a milk-sop.” 

Even had not Tyrrel seen that she was beyond reach of 
reason or appeal, he could have said no more. He had reached 
his limit. A downward look showed him that Keith was re¬ 
viving. He faced about and walked off without a backward 
glance. 

At the gate he picked up and uncocked the pistols of Welsh 
and Slim. He turned both in to Cookie when he asked that 
fat bean-boiler to fill his canteen and stow two days’ rations 
in his saddle-bags. 

He brought Ante into the outer courtyard and slung the 
filled canteen and the bags on his saddle. As he added his 
bed-roll to the pack, Pilar came running from the inner patio. 
Checked by the curious stare of Cookie, she stopped a full 
arm’s length away from Tyrrel and held out a pink-ribboned 
bundle. 

“ Santisima! ” she panted. “ For them to drive you off this 
way! ” 

He forced a smile. 

“You’re a dear! Don’t lose any sleep over me. It’s not 
the first time I’ve taken a spill. Maybe I’ll get the laugh 
on them.” 

“How?” 

“What if I should slant over to Tabru and dig up that 
treasure? ” 

“Ah! ah! Poder de Dios! You will find it — all the gold 
and emeralds and rubies! ” 



The Milksop 189 


“Well, to tell the honest truth, I’m not banking strong 
on your Aztec hoard, little girl. I’ll be satisfied if I find 
something more precious.” 

“More precious? Diamonds!” 

“We might call it that. Sounds alliterative if not lit¬ 
eral— dewy diamonds dug from the dusty desert! What’s 
the package?” 

Pilar shot a sidelong glance at the open-eyed, open-eared 
cook. 

“ It’s a lunch for your trip — nut fudge and cake and-” 

“ But Cookie has filled my saddle-bags.” 

“My own fudge! You must take it.” This time her black 
eyes stared straight at the cook. “ Look how that fat burro 
wiggles his big ears.” 

Cookie backed away, covered with confusion and a brick- 
red blush. The girl came close to Tyrrel. 

“It is mine to give. It was my padre's. You lost your 
own. When they — Mat and Slim — helped Don into the 
sala , Gerda ordered the snake to vamos. I saw the way they 
looked at each other behind her back. Accept my gift. You 
will need it.” 

Tyrrel took the out-thrust package. 

“ O me, O my! It feels like a pound cake — a two-pound 
cake.” 

“ More than that,” Pilar flashed back at him. “ It’s heavy. 
Cookie will tell you how they’re apt to fall if you don’t watch 
out.” 

“I gather, my cake will be dough if I don’t take it,” 
countered Tyrrel as he crammed the package into one of the 
saddlebags. He turned to grip the girl’s little hands between 
his ungloved palms. 

“Good-bye, Senorita Elberta. I’ll not forget this. If I 
find the treasure, you shall have a peach of a stone.” 

He mounted. She made the sign of the cross. 





190 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“Vaya usted con Dios , mi querido amigo!" 

“I agree. But what does it mean?” 

“Go with God, beloved friend.” 

“ Same to you, little girl — and many happy returns! ” 

A touch of the reins sent Ante swinging around towards 
the main gateway. As he bore his erect rider under the 
great stone arch, Gerda appeared at the inner gate. She 
gazed intently across the court. Pilar was fluttering her 
lace-edged handkerchief. Tyrrel waved back to her. 

Gerda turned about and walked quickly across the garden. 
She carried her head high. But her eyes no longer flashed 
with scorn. 

He had left her and gone away without a word. 



CHAPTER XXIII 


’tis an ill wind- 

E ASTWARD, beyond sight from the ranch, Tyrrel opened 
Pilar’s package of lunch. The fudge was an old- 
fashioned cartridge belt of carved Spanish leather, embossed 
with silver. The nuts that enriched it were lead-bullet cart¬ 
ridges whose brass was green with age. The cake was a long- 
barreled Colts, gorgeous with mountings of pearl and gold. 

He spun the cylinder, loaded it, and put two bullets through 
the center of a prickly-pear leaf-lobe fifty feet away. 

44 Old model double-action gun, Ante horse. Puts ’em where 
you aim. We’re in luck.” 

He looked close at the rich mountings. 

44 Just what you’d expect of a Spanish don. Let’s have a 
guess at the fancy monogram — 4 CM ’ . . . . no , 4 MC ’— 
Miguel Chavez. All gold and pearl — and three crosses 
scratched on the heel plate! Some man for a sheep prince! 
No wonder he roped young Miss Keith — and less wonder 
that Senorita Pilar floats about in a rose-cloud of romance. 
Ante horse, Ante horse, if only somebody else we know had 
a tenth of that little girl’s tenderness, we’d be eating oats 
in a box stall!” 

Ante broke into a jog. 

Sunset found them high among the pinons. Instead of 
back-trailing the route of the herd, Tyrrel had headed 
straight east from the ranch, across to the cedar-dotted wall 
of the great mesa. 

All the immense 44 table ” top seemed deserted of bird, beast, 
and man. But as horse and rider rounded a rise, a pinon-jay 
screeched warning of their approach. Over the rise a squirrel 

191 


192 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


irascibly scolded them from a tree top. The clamor of bird 
and squirrel started a chain of ideas in Tyrrel’s mind that 
broke in upon his bitter reverie. 

He loped Ante downhill and up the next rise. Behind the 
crest rocks he dismounted and sat down on a ledge to peer 
back through a narrow crevice. A long five minutes passed 
with no sight of any living creature, and no slightest sound 
to break the stillness of the mountain sunset. He rose to 
remount. 

“Just another bit of the little girl’s romance, Ante. With 
nightfall near, he would have closed up-” 

From the other ridge came the harsh far-carrying cry of 
the jay. Tyrrel jumped back to his peep-hole. The dis¬ 
tance was too great for him to hear the chatter of the 
squirrel. But the red after-glare of sundown still glowed 
bright through the trees on the skyline. Between the black 
trunks he saw the head and shoulders of a rider come part 
way up the round of the ridge. The figure rose no higher. 

“ Stopped to take a look ahead. We can’t shoot on sus¬ 
picion, Ante horse. Yet if he is who he is, he’ll make his try 
from behind a tree — in the dark. How about testing his 
intentions with that old stunt Dad Howbert told about?” 

Ante jogged on into the twilight. As dusk came stealing 
under the pines he topped another crested ridge. Tyrrel 
galloped him a quarter-mile down the far slope, and jumped 
off to build a high-stacked cook fire. While his bacon sizzled 
on a green pine twig, he jerked off his saddle behind a clump 
of young growth, a few feet to one side of the fire. His 
unpacked bed-roll, stuffed with pine sprays and the saddle¬ 
bags, and topped with his hat in the saddle, looked startlingly 
like a sleeping man even from close at hand. 

The cook spit had burned through and dropped the bacon 
into the fire. Tyrrel stacked the fire with larger pieces and 
slipped away among the pines, carrying his canteen and a 




Tis an III Wind — 


193 


fistful of cold biscuits. Ante started to tag after him, but 
stopped at his order and began to crop the dry bunch-grass. 

Tyrrel soon finished his scant meal, the first he had eaten 
since breakfast. He drank his fill from the canteen and 
stretched out at ease in the shadow of the pine under which 
he had posted himself. 

Night had already settled down upon the mesa top. The 
starlight between the trees was too faint to outline objects 
against the dense blackness of their shadows. By contrast, 
everything within several yards of the fire stood out clear 
and distinct. 

The wait was much longer than Tyrrel had expected. The 
slow minutes dragged past the hour mark and on into the 
second hour. As the fire burned down into a bed of glowing 
coals, the circle of red light narrowed. 

No slightest sound reached Tyrrel’s straining ears. But 
Ante stopped his grazing and looked off into the blackness, 
across the fire from the sham sleeper. Tyrrel peered hard in 
the same direction. After a time Ante dropped his big head 
to crop another mouthful of grass. He did not point again. 

The delay was getting on Tyrrel’s nerves. He began to 
doubt his own eyes. What if the pinon-jay had screeched 
at only a passing mule deer? The supposed rider may have 
been no more than a bush or a young pine. A wildcat, or 
even a rabbit, could have made Ante stand and gaze. 

With a suddenness that almost jerked a cry from Tyrrel, 
a shadow glided from under one of the trees on the right of 
the fire. It slunk into line between him and the glowing coals. 
That excessively thin, tall figure could not be mistaken. 
Tyrrel stood up and felt his way forward, step by step. 

Slim paused, as far from the fire on one side as the sham 
sleeper lay on the other. 

“Hey, you—” he mouthed a vile name—“wake up. I 
want you should see it coming! You—” more vile names. 




194 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


The sleeper did not stir. Slim burst into blasphemy and 
fired at what would have been Tyrrel’s legs. Still the sleeper 
did not stir. A frightful doubt clutched the heart of the 
assassin. He fired two quick shots into the thick of the bed¬ 
roll. 

From behind him came a quiet voice. 

“Hands up.” 

Already rattled, Slim whirled and fired towards the sound, 
instead of jumping for cover. Tyrrel’s first bullet struck 
him high up under the right collarbone. The pistol fell from 
his down-dropping hand. He yelled and jumped towards the 
nearest tree. The second shot from the old Colts struck his 
leg. He sprawled headlong and lay outstretched, howling for 
mercy. 

Tyrrel called from the blackness. 

“ Can that racket. You’re not killed. Sit up. Now, give 
it me straight, if you want to live. Where’s Butch and Red¬ 
eye?” 

“ B-b-back on the Ka-K-Kay Kay. D-d-don’t shoot, 
buddy! I’ll cough up. It was Big Mat made me-” 

“ Straight, I said. If they’re here, I’ll finish you, sure 
as-” 

“ N-n-no, buddy! Nix! They ain’t siding me — she didn’t 
fire only me. I trailed you all by my lonesome. Mat swore 
you wasn’t heeled. He gave me a hundred bucks.” 

“ Only a hundred ? Less than the price of a good horse. 
He values us both pretty cheap.” 

Slim groaned and clutched at his shoulder and leg. Both 
wounds were beginning to tune up. The groan decided 
Tyrrel. He ran forward to pick up the fallen pistol and 
fling an armful of dry twigs on the fire. 

The upblaze gave him clear light to examine Slim’s wounds. 
Each bullet had gone clean through. The leg wound was only 
in the muscles of the calf. He sterilized it with hot ashes and 





'Tis an III Wind— 


195 


put on a bandage torn from a blanket. The same rough 
surgery stanched the more serious wound under the collar¬ 
bone. 

When he fetched the other horse from the crest of the 
ridge and started to saddle up Ante, Slim begged abjectly 
to be let go. 

“No use whining,” said Tyrrel. “You’re not going to set 
Welsh and your brother coyotes on me for a while at least. 
Besides, you’ll travel easier at night, before your fever gets 
up.” 

“D’you figger on jailing me?” 

“ I’ll ask Mr. Howbert’s advice.” 

Slim’s pain-twisted jaw dropped. 

“ Old Hack How? He’ll skin me alive! My dad sided One- 
Gun.” 

“ Strikes me, I’m the man who’s entitled to hang your hide 
on the fence. Come along.” 

The cowed man made no struggle to hold back from being 
boosted into his saddle. Tyrrel took the horse in lead. He 
permitted his prisoner no chance to slip away in the darkness. 
An occasional glimpse of the North Star enabled him to keep 
Ante headed in an easterly direction until the moon gave 
light enough to quicken the pace. A lope was easier on Slim 
than a jog-trot. When the ground was not too rough or 
steep they covered fast mileage. 

No stop was made until mid-morning of the next day, when 
they were far out on the plains east of the Chupadera. 
Tyrrel lifted down his exhausted prisoner and laid him in the 
shade of a mesquite. Though feverish, Slim took more than 
his share of bacon and biscuits. 

He drowsed through the heat of the day. Towards evening 
Tyrrel helped him back into his saddle. They veered a little 
south of east, crossed the railroad north of Coyote, and 
struck for the gap between Jack’s Peak and the Jacarilla 



196 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Mountains. 

After dark they sighted the light of a ranch house. But 
Tyrrel rode on, despite Slim’s groans. He had no wish to 
chance stumbling upon friends of his prisoner. 

Daybreak brought them to the ranch house of the Lazy S 
Bar. Howbert was eating breakfast with his men when 
Tyrrel staggered in at the door with the swooning Slim 
across his shoulder. 

“Howdy, son. You’re just in time,” he greeted, as un¬ 
concernedly as if the visitor were one of the hands who had 
overslept. “ Set up and feed your face. Who’s your sick 
pard? By ginger, it’s Slim Rixerlie! Give him an ease-down, 
Billy Bull.” 

Tyrrel dumped his burden into the arms of the battered¬ 
faced, red-headed old foreman who sprang to help him. 

“ I’ll ask you to bunk and coffee him, Billy. He ran into 
a couple of bullets, up on the Chupadera, night before last.” 

A puncher followed the foreman to the bunk room with the 
coffee-pot. As Tyrrel dropped into one of the vacant places 
on the bench, the old cowman shoved him his own freshly 
refilled cup of coffee. It was almost as strong as lye and 
little less than scalding hot. 

Tyrrell drained the cup in one draught and fell to on the 
Mexican cook’s peppery dishes. Between swallows he gave a 
laconic account of the stampede and his encounters with 
Welsh and Slim. 

At the end of the meal Howbert sent his men off to work 
and went to look at Slim. 

“Sleeping like a log,” he reported. “Could take a wink 
or two your ownself, huh? ” 

“Not till we’ve had a powwow. First, about Slim.” 

“You scotched the snake mighty neat. But you ought 
to’ve smashed his head. He’ll live to wriggle out of the peni¬ 
tentiary and get you.” 

• 



Tis an III Wind — 


197 


“ No. Here’s how I’ve thought it out. I had no witnesses. 
If I had killed him, the Kay Kay would have had me tried 
for murder in their own county. That would have cost me 
time and money, not to mention risk of pen or the noose.” 

“ Best have chanced it. Them Rixerlies never give up try¬ 
ing to get even. We’ll do our best, though, to send him up 
for life.” 

“ Only my word against his, and he a native son. No. 
My idea is to turn him loose. I’ve sized him up. If he ever 
had nerve, it’s broken. He has had his lesson. The others 
don’t look for him back. The Kay Kay has fired him. He’ll 
run home and stay home.” 

Howbert meditatively gnawed his tobacco plug and spat 
through the doorway. 

“ Dunno but what mebbe you’re right, son. ’Tain’t the way 
we used to Settle argyments, but-” 

“ But you had your Lincoln County wars! Peace is get¬ 
ting to be more popular. It’s more fun building up than 
tearing down.” 

The old man’s eyes glinted. 

“ You’ve come to throw in with the Lazy S Bar! ” 

“ To offer you a partnership, if my proposition pans out. 
I’m on my way to hunt the treasure of Tabru.” 

“Huh? You’re plumb locoed. Who’s been stuffing you 
with that bull con? ” 

“ Pretty good grass there.” 

“Tiptop — and nary a drop of cow drink.” 

“ What will you make it if I supply the water? ” 

The look in the ruddy brown eyes checked the cowman’s 
sardonic reply. He bushed down his shaggy eyebrows 

“How’d half the calves strike you?” 

“ I’m thinking of feeders.” 

“Um-m — that Kay Kay deal didn’t clean me on ’em — not 
by a little bit. Fact is, ’twasn’t only for the cash that I had 


1 




198 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


to get rid of that there bunch. My range is pretty much 
et off.” 

“ So I noticed. Cows can pull through on short grass. 
Feeders in that knee-high grama at Tabru would lay on 
weight fast — marbled beef. They’d bring top market.” 

“By ginger, you’ve cut your eye-teeth, son, or I’m a 
greaser. What’s your proposition?” 

“ Half the calves, a fifth on the feeders, and a right to buy 
into the Lazy S Bar — always supposing I find that water.” 

Howbert clapped him on the knee. 

“ Go to it, son! I wouldn’t mind hearing tell what’s up 
your sleeve, if ’tain’t no secret.” 

“Not to you. It’s a gamble but not altogether wildcat. 
Miss Keith spoke of how the Pueblos used to kill their springs. 
When we drove across the dead town, part of the herd 
bunched in a rocky draw, off to the south. Before heading 
down this way I had sided some irrigation engineers. They 
posted me on drainage and watertables and all that. The 
draw at the pueblo looked like a good bet to me. Of course, 
though, it may be only a small spring.” 

“It’s worth a try, son. If you don’t make a go of it, 
back-trail to the Lazy S Bar. Reckon I know a comer when 
I see him. You’re free to buy a slice in the brand right now.” 

“ Thanks. But I’ll wait. I’d like to chip in some blue ones.” 

A yawn threatened to throw Tyrrel’s jaw out of joint. 
He stumbled into the bunk room and stretched out on a bed, 
across from the snoring Slim. 

The wounded man slept until evening, drank a big bowl of 
soup, and drowsed off again. In the morning he was wakened 
by Tyrrel and Howbert. 

“Coil, you rattlesnake,” ordered the cowman. “Wriggle 
’longside the bar of justice. Get your hoof up on the rail 
and sing out what’ll you have. Your judge gives you choice 
of the rope, or life in the state home for skunks, or turning 



Tis an III Wind ■— 


199 


3 T ou loose. Don’t sit there batting your eyes. Sit up and 
bark like a little man.” 

Slim glared sullenly at the grim mocker. Tyrrel eased him 
to a sitting position and placed his right arm in a sling. 

“That takes the strain from your shoulder,” he said. 
“Mr. Howbert will put you up till you feel like pulling out 
for home. Only condition, you’re to keep away from Welsh.” 

The jaw of the wounded man gaped. 

“You—you’re joking!” 

“ I’m giving it you straight. Do you steer clear of Welsh? ” 

The snappy eyes glowed with a look that Tyrrel had never 
before seen in them. The slack jaw closed with a snap. 

“To hell with Mat Welsh! You’re a white man!” 

“Free, white and American,” said Tyrrel. “You’re going 
to be the same from now on.” 

He took the man’s limp left hand in a hearty grip. It 
tightened with sudden convulsive force. 

“ That’s the stuff, buddy. Stick on, and don’t pull leather. 
S’long, dad. Hope to see you inside a month.” 

The cowman grunted a casual responsive “ S’long,” and 
gnawed at his plug. But the moment Tyrrel went out, he 
thrust his cadaverous face close to Slim’s. 

“What you grinning at, you ornery coyote? Think he’s 
soft, huh? ” 

“ Soft — hell! I ain’t grinning, Jacarilla. I’m just a-smil- 
ing — with him” 

Howbert left the bunk room, scratching his grizzled head. 
He peered out at the rider who had started to jog away 
through the cottonwoods. When Tyrrel disappeared, he got 
down his greasy old ledger, tore a leaf out of the back, and 
put on his battered spectacles. 

“ Best get it writ to once,” he muttered. “ May be light¬ 
ning-struck, or my hoss put his foot in a prairie-pup hole. 
They’s no telling what’ll happen these here days.” 



CHAPTER XXIV 


FOOL, OR JOKER 

F ROM Gallinas Tyrrel followed the general course of the 
railroad around to the nearest section house north of 
the dead pueblo. On his way he collected a second-hand 
flivver truck, gasolene, food, a camp kit, and two water tanks. 

At the section house he found waiting the dynamite and 
miners’ tools for which he had wired ahead to Albuquerque. 
He left Ante in pasture, and struck out southward with the 
truck, ostensibly to prospect on the Chupadera. 

Without even Ante for company, he found the gaunt ashen- 
gray ruins of the old pueblo more than ever arid and desolate 
and uncanny. He was far too intent upon his project, how¬ 
ever, to give way to fanciful day-dreams over the dead dwell¬ 
ings of a dead tribe. 

Work alone would numb the ache of his memory of Gerda 
Keith. He had lost her .... if by any possibility 
there was still a fighting chance to win her back, work and 
careful thinking might now give him that chance. 

First of all, he must make sure that no one should surprise 
his secret and forestall him. He pitched his camp near a 
small outlying ruin, so situated that the bottom of the rocky 
draw would not be visible to anyone coming to the camp from 
the southwest or leaving it that way. 

Nearby was an old slope-sided prospect hole of the treasure 
seekers. With a little pick and shovel work and a blast of 
dynamite, he gave the timberless shaft the appearance of hav¬ 
ing been newly dug. After planting a second charge of giant 
powder, he carried part of his tools across to the draw. 
Nearly two hundred and fifty years had passed since 
200 


Fool or Joker 


201 


the extermination of -the Pueblos by their ferocious Apache 
enemies. If any path had ever led from the houses to the 
draw, it had long since been obliterated by the carving and 
filling of wind-driven sand, by frost and rain, and by the 
growth of grass, junipers, and cactus. 

But Tyrrel was not looking for relics of the old-time in¬ 
habitants. He spent hours studying the outcrop of the 
limestone and tracing the lay of its stratas. When he set 
to digging, it was at a point a few yards down the draw from 
what seemed to him the most favorable dip in the stratas. 

A week of hard toil with pick, shovel, drills and dynamite 
brought him down through the age-old fill of dirt and broken 
limestone to solid bedrock. His narrow shaft was as bone 
dry at the bottom as at the top. The bedrock sloped with 
the pitch of the draw. Reason told him that he could not 
hope to find a drop of fluid up on the incline. Water runs 
down hill. 

But he was now beyond reason. In his blood burned the 
fever of the treasure seeker. He shifted up the draw a dozen 
yards and started to sink a second shaft. There was logic 
in his madness. Farther down slope the bedrock cropped out 
in bare ledges. No possibility of water there. That was 
plain to the eye. 

Up-slope, however, the disheartening dry stratas were 
covered over. He might as well use up his dynamite. There 
is always a chance that experience may prove valuable. Some 
day he might have to take a mining job. He pounded his 
drill with stubborn persistence. 

From the first, his ten-minute rests every hour had been 
spent up behind the west rim of the draw, looking down across 
the valley towards the dark mass of the great mesa. After¬ 
noon of the tenth day brought what he had been looking for 
yet had only faintly expected. He saw a group of riders 
down in the valley. The party numbered four, and they 



202 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


were slanting across from the mesa foot to the south, towards 
the dead town. 

By the time the riders came up the hill slope Tyrrel had 
covered his shafts with dust-sprinkled tarpaulins and was 
back at his camp. As the visitors topped the rise to the 
southwest he touched off the second blast in the old hole. 

The riders were close at hand when he staggered up the 
incline with a sack of blast-shattered rock on his back. The 
sack thudded down beside him. He flung out his hands with 
well-acted astonishment. 

“ Hello! If it isn’t the double Kay Kay! Four of a kind . f 
Welcome to our city, ladies and gents!” 

A touch of Gerda’s spur sent Lobo curvetting and side¬ 
jumping around the pit. Keith and Pilar pushed ahead of 
the frowning Welsh. 

“ Oh, Mr. Tyrrel,” cried the young girl, “ haven’t you 
found the treasure yet?” 

Tyrrel wiped his forehead and looked at his blistered palms. 

“Not yet, Miss Chavez. I haven’t struck anything so far 
except some pieces of pottery.” 

“You are wasting your time,” said Keith, in a not un¬ 
friendly tone. “We came because my ward insisted you 
really would attempt this preposterous search.” 

“Thanks for your interest! Perhaps you came to advise 
me to go and sit on the North Pole. It might be cooler 
there.” 

Keith slipped a handkerchief up under his half-raised hat. 

“No. I came to offer an apology for my accusation 
against you. However indiscreet you may have been, my 
ward has convinced me I did not have sufficient cause for 
my attack.” 

“That’s a perfectly good apology so far as it goes, Mr. 
Keith. I knocked you out because you drew on me. If you 
hadn’t had a gun I wouldn’t have done that. I would have 



Fool or Joker 


203 


thrashed you for believing what you did about the lady. 5 ’ 

“ I deserved it, Tyrrel. For the first time in years I per¬ 
mitted my feelings to override my reason. It does not pay. 
You saw the consequences. With regard to yourself — I 
wired to Colorado, traced you down, and ascertained your 
rating. As the guardian of Miss Chavez, I can no longer 
object to your associating with her, if she so desires.” 

Pilar gave Tyrrel a smile and a coquettish glance. 

44 I’ll be pleased to see you, Dick, any time — only Gerda 
of course won’t let you come near the ranch.” 

Lobo had danced three-quarters around the pit. His rider 
curbed him to a stand and looked down at Tyrrel with 
haughty disdain. 

44 It is a matter of utter indifference to me, nina, whether 
your querido amigo comes to visit you or stays away.” 

A lash of her quirt across his face could not have stung 
Tyrrel deeper. As over the supposed hidden spring, he had 
continued to hope when reason told him all grounds for hope 
were gone. There was now no slightest suggestion of softness 
about her. Yet she looked more beautiful than ever to his 
famished eyes. He only just managed to cover his bitter 
disappointment with an ironical smile. 

44 Miss Keith is most kind. Some day I may drop in for 
a week-end house-party, if things break right for me.” 

Welsh thought he saw an opening to play up for Gerda. 

44 Not so fast, if you please, our busted buster. I’ll let you 
know I’m still in the Kay Kay and expect to stay. My 
share in the outfit says your room is preferred to your 
company.” 

44 Same to you, Mat. By the way, your friend Slim paid 
you his compliments. He suggested that you go to a place 
deleted by censor — ladies being present. I have an idea he 
has passed up trailing for good. He discovered that night¬ 
hunting isn’t the best thing for the health. It’s too much 




204 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


like house-painting. You’re apt to get leaded.” 

Gerda jumped from the thoroughbred and came up close 
to Tyrrel, her eyes sparkling with excitement. 

“You don’t mean to say the snake had nerve enough to 
trail you!” 

“Why shouldn’t he? Someone induced him to believe I 
wasn’t armed.” Tyrrel smiled blandly at Welsh. “ It may 
save the coroner trouble if I explain that I am almost as 
quick on the draw as my friend Mr. Howbert. Any* time, 
Mr. Welsh, that you or your boyhood buddies desire a demon¬ 
stration of the fact, consider me at your service.” 

The challenge was direct. Welsh reddened. He sought to 
cover his confusion. 

“This ain’t any time to talk rough — with ladies present.” 

“Never mind us,” said Gerda, her eyes now fairly flash¬ 
ing. “What about Slim, Dick? You killed the snake?” 

Tyrrel shook his head. 

“He was only a garter snake in a rattler’s skin. All he 
needed was a little persuasion and the chance to make a new 
start. He’ll get well — both in body and soul, I hope. 
Shouldn’t be surprised if he panned out white, after all.” 

“You shot him up and then let him go?” cried Gerda. 
“You’re soft! You dotty fool! He’ll trail you now like 
a wildcat. What was he after? Your contest money? He 
couldn’t have cashed Jacarilla’s check.” 

“ Maybe I might as well have given him the cash,” remarked 
Tyrrel. He looked from the old shaft to his flivver truck. 
“I’ve spent a good piece of it-” 

“On a silly search for what isn’t here and never was!” 
rasped the girl. “Aztec treasure — bah! You’re a crack- 
brained idiot.” 

“Yessum. ’Scuse me one moment, ma’am.” 

He jumped to help Pilar dismount. She slipped down, 
half in his arms, and stood with her hand on his shoulder, 




Fool or Joker 


205 


smiling at Gerda. 

“ Santisima! Isn’t this fun! Aren’t you all glad I made 
you believe he would be here? ” 

“ Yes,” agreed Gerda. “It has shown me he’s just what I 
thought him. Ask him to lift you back into your saddle. 
We want to get up on the mesa in time to camp.” 

“What’s your hurry?” protested Tyrrel. “It’s true the 
hotel here is closed for repairs, but I’d be glad to put you 
up over night. Such a nice quiet town. No joyriders to run 
you down; no cabarets or jazz to jangle your beauty sleep. 
Some moonshine, but not much drinking.” 

Keith spoke for his sister. 

“ Thank you. We’ll head for home.” 

“ Hold on. At least the drinks are on me,” said Tyrrel. 

In his haste, he first opened the spigot of the tank that had 
been empty for three days. He turned to* the other tank 
with cup and bucket. Pilar eagerly took the first cupful of 
water. She eyed him coquettishly over the brim as she 
drained it. 

He offered the second cup to Gerda. She hesitated, more 
than half disposed to refuse. He stood with the brim-full tin 
outheld, a smile on his lips and yearning in his eyes. 

“ 4 As a cup of cold water in the wilderness,’ Miss Keith. 
This needs ice and a touch of lemon to kill the alkali. I 
guess, though, you get my idea. Don’t keep me waiting 
till the sands of the desert grow cold. They do every 
night .... but I haven’t.” 

Gerda’s eyelashes quivered and lowered. Her gaze sank 
to the cup. She grasped the handle with a suddenness that 
spilled more than a quarter of the cupful. 

“Good luck!” exclaimed Tyrrel. “You’ve poured a liba¬ 
tion to the red gods of Tabru — the gods of adventure, and 
romance, and-” 

“Your pail’s running over!” broke in Gerda breathlessly. 




206 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Loss of water in the semi-desert is a calamity. Tyrrel 
sprang to turn off the spigot — the pail was only three- 
quarters full! Why had she chopped him off with that fib? 
The long lashes had veiled the look in her eyes. Had it been 
embarrassment, or was it- 

The emptied cup clattered at his feet. Whatever her feel¬ 
ing may have been, it now, unmistakably, was anger. 

“You’re a plain, unvarnished idiot!” she snapped out her 
exasperation. “ Still letting your water run! Haven’t you 
any sense at all? The pail may spill over.” 

He turned off the spigot, dipped out a cupful for her 
brother, and swung the pail around to the nearest horse. 
It happened to be Pilar’s. The girl shrieked a protest: 

“Oh! you mustn’t! You extravagant, generous hombre! ” 

The other horses lurched towards their greedily drinking 
companion. Welsh jerked his beast back on its haunches 
with a rough heave at the curb. Tyrrel gave Keith’s horse 
and Lobo each as much as Pilar’s pony. There was still 
a big swallow left in the second pailful. He turned to Welsh. 

“ If you don’t wish to drink my water, I can’t compel you 
to, Mr. Welsh. But the Kay Kay gave me of its hospitality. 
I’d like, if you please, the privilege of offering the rest of 
this to your horse—and a cup to you.” 

Welsh swung out of his saddle and went to stare down the 
slope side of the pit. The horse thrust his dusty muzzle 
into the pail and sucked up the last drop. Tyrrel drew 
enough more to make his share even. 

“ Generous but wasteful,” said Keith. “All of them could 
have made the return trip dry without hurt. There’s not 
much left in your tank.” 

Lobo had started to nuzzle Tyrrel’s shoulder. He stroked 
the high-bred beast’s starred forehead, smiled quizzically, and 
opened his chuckbox to pour into a tin plate what was left 
of his sugar. 




Fool or Joher 


207 


“ I’ve heard that your poorest Mexican sheepherders will 
share their last tortilla with any visitor, Mr. Keith. I have 
also heard that the proud Bedouins of the desert whose sands 
never grow cold, are not too proud to accept hospitality 
even from their enemies. But you’re not proud Bedouins, 
and I’m not a sheepherder — yet. Since } 7 ou refuse to taste 
my salt, the best I can do is ask Lobo and his equine com¬ 
rades to see if my sugar is bitter.” 

Gerda’s cheeks were aflame with hot scarlet. She cried out, 
between exasperation and scorn and laughter: 

“Oh, you — you impossible — windmill tilter! D’you ex¬ 
pect us to side your idiocy? We’ll eat your chuck — if you’ll 
agree to quit this fool treasure hunt.” 

Tyrrel faced her, no longer smiling. 

“So you take me for a quitter? Well, I may be one, but 
I have yet to find it out. Thus far in my joyous young life 
I have never laid down until I’ve bet my last white chip.” 

The scarlet in Gerda’s cheeks deepened to rose-crimson. 
But the wave of embarrassment only added to her anger. She 
slapped her chaps with her quirt. 

“You’ll quit this gold-brick game right now, or you’ll find 
yourself without even a last white chip for — any other 
game! ” 

“ Quien sabe? Sabe Dios — if I may quote Miss Chavez. 
Or was it your brother?” 

Pilar clapped her hands. 

“Bravo, Don Ricardo, mi querido campeador! Of course 
you’ll find the treasure. You’re bound to!” 

“Well, I’m not sure. But I’ve found some indications.” 

“Indications of a bob-tailed flush,” jeered Welsh. “He’s 
a grand bluffer. The campeador fourflushero! Happens, 
though, I’m from Missouri. You’ve got to show me. Indica¬ 
tions? If you pan a trace of color out of this tomb, I’m a 
Missouri jackass.” 



208 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“ Maybe you are,” blandly agreed Tyrrel. “ Who am I 
to dispute your claims?” 

Keith was dismounting. He hastened forward between the 
two. 

“ Easy, Mat. He packs that old six-gun of Pilar’s padre. 
Suppose we take a look at the diggings ? ” 

“ Wait! ” objected Tyrrel with feigned concern. “ I haven’t 
given you leave-” 

But Welsh had caught his partner’s arm and was pushing 
him ahead down the incline into the pit. Tyrrel followed 
them, frowning. Behind him Gerda turned upon Pilar. 

“It’s true what Donnie said! I saw the gold and pearl 
of the hilt. You gave him that gun!” 

“ What if I did? ” defied Pilar. She added with tantalizing 
sweetness. “But of course it does not matter to you, does 
it, querida dulcisima mia? You no longer care for him. You 
sent him from you — to be trailed by that snake. But I 
cared. I warned him — I gave him my padre’s gun. If the 
snake had struck him, I should have grieved. To you what 
does it matter, one way or the other? You no longer love him, 
querida mia.” 

Gerda turned brusquely away and started to tighten Lobo’s 
cinch. 

When Tyrrel came up out of the pit with the other men, 
he saw Pilar helping herself to a second drink. Gerda was 
putting the sugar back into the chuckbox. 

“Well?” she called sharply to her brother. 

He reached up inside his big sombrero to squeeze the moist 
sponge in its crown. The tone of his reply was almost pitying. 

“It is of no use trying to reason with a crazy man. He 
is blasting into the solid limestone.” 

“But those chinks in the rocks,” said Tyrrel, wide-eyed. 
“What if the Aztecs pulled out the natural blocks, and 
chucked all that treasure in behind, and shoved the blocks 




Fool or Joker 


209 


back again?” 

“Oh — damn!” cried Gerda. “Will you quit this fool 
play, or won’t you? The Kay Kay might take you on as 
a rider, if you should ask for it now. Later there’ll be no 
vacancy for you.” 

“Muchas gracias, Miss Keith, but I’m not hankering to 
work for wages yet awhile.” 

“Not till you’ve played your last chip! All right. You’ll 
find plenty of jobs open for you, on south in the sheep 
country. The prime qualification for a sheepherder is to be 
crazy. You’ll have congenial company. Come on, everybody. 
Let’s get out of here before we all go loco ' 9 

Tyrrel sprang forward to give Pilar the hand-up for which 
she stood waiting. As the four started off, he swept off his 
old hat in a grand flourish. 

“ Adios , mui amigos senores. D’you savvy that? I’m 
studying up on Espaniardino. It’s a mighty dulce linga. 
How’s this one, ladies? Way-you used-to chili con came , 
mis queridas senoritas!" 

Pilar giggled and blew him a kiss. Gerda rode on, flushed 
and hard-eyed, without looking back. 

“ Stark, staring, rattlepated crazy! ” said Keith. “ Over 
west of the river I’ve seen the gold fever stampede a whole 
town. But this treasure hunting is worse.” 

Welsh’s grin of derision had given way to a frown. 

“ I’m not so sure. Strikes me he was just a little bit too 
nutty. We’ll look wise as boiled owls, won’t we, if he has 
played us for a bunch of boobs? What d’you say I lay out, 
over at the mesa foot, and slip back after dark to see what 
he’s up to?” 

“And get leaded with one of those old Chavez soft-nosed 
slugs, like your friend Slim?” scoffed Gerda. “No. If he’s 
acting Hamlet, he’s apt to play the melancholy Dane to your 
Polonius—‘What, ho! a rat behind the junipers. Dead, 



210 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


for a ducat, dead ! 9 99 

“ Better forget it all, both of you,” advised Keith. “ Crazy 
or not, what he does is none of our business, as long as he 
keeps clear of us.” 

“Oh, but you gave him leave to visit me, Don Senor ” 
murmured Pilar. “ I know he will come just as soon as he 
finds the treasure.” 

Gerda spurred Lobo into a gallop. 



CHAPTER XXV 


DEWY DIAMONDS 

H AD Welsh slipped back to the dead pueblo at any time 
before sunset, he would have seen “ the nutty slick 
Dick 99 sitting in the shade of the flivver truck. Humped up, 
chin in palms and elbows on knees, Tyrrel sat gazing off 
southwest at the dark mass of the Chupadera. 

The great mesa loomed up between the pueblo ruins and 
the Kay Kay, huge and somber as a barrier wall of the old 
Norse giants. Was the barrier of her pride and temper any 
less high and unbreakable? Was his city of fair dreams only 
another desolate ashen ruin — peopled with the ghosts of 
dead hopes? 

He had played his cards — and lost. Once or twice she 
had seemed about to soften. But it had been only a mock 
of real sentiment — like the mirage forests and lakes of the 
old arid desert. 

What was the use? Why waste time searching for 
treasure? All the gold and emeralds of Montezuma would 
be no more than lead and green glass without her to share 
them with him. She had told him to quit. Good advice for 
a busted buster! 

All right. He would crank up and pull out — East. He 
would start a taxi, and use a slice of his fares to buy up a 
packing plant. Then he would pay a quarter-cent over 
market for Kay Kay steers — heap coals of fire on her 
head- 

Fire and treasure. The glory of that gold-tinted hair 
when she threw back her head — the splendor of those emerald¬ 
flashing eyes! Talk about your old-time Valkyries — war- 

211 



212 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


maidens! They couldn’t begin to hold a candle to her. She 
was a sixty-thousand-candle electric headlight. 

The headlight sank below the crest of the pine-dark mesa. 
He jerked himself out of his day-dream back into harsh 
reality. 

“Ugh! There goes the sun. Get the dazzle out of your 
eyes, cowboy. Come down to earth. No chance of a Valkyrie 
frying your ham. You’re a lone lorn old batch, and it’s time 
to feed. I sure never did know a stomach so utterly lacking 
in sentimentality!” 

He pulled himself to his feet and let down the back of the 
chuck-box. In behind the meal sack was something that did 
not belong. He pulled it out. It was one of the big Kay Kay 
canteens, almost full of delicious lemon-acidulated water. No 
mark except the KK stamp on its canvas jacket. 

When he had come up out of the pit, Gerda was the one 
putting away the sugar. Yet Pilar might have been there 
first. She could have slipped in her canteen — hidden it 
behind the sack so that Gerda would not see it. She had been 
taking a second drink from the tank. May that not have 
been to save herself from having to call upon the others for 
a drink before they had gone well along on the back trail? 

She, not Gerda, had been the one who gave him the gun 
and warned him, when he left the Kay Kay. She had shown 
herself tender-hearted and kind; whereas Gerda .... 
yes, the canteen must have been left by the little girl. And 
yet there was just the bare possibility that Gerda may have 
been the one. 

After all, why quit before using up all the dynamite? 

Sunrise found him pounding his drill. He worked hard 
and fast. He had none too much water left. That foolish 
piece of bravado, watering the horses, had been only in small 
part offset by the gift of the canteen. Mining was much 
thirstier work than he had counted upon. He could of course 




Dewy Diamonds 


213 


run the truck back to the railroad and tank up. But that 
would take time. Also, once away from this graveyard of a 
dead tribe and dying hopes, a great deal of determination 
would be needed to get him back. 

Time flew, along with the rock chips of his blasts. Soon 
came the morning when his second tank was dry and the big 
canteen held little more than a pint. The radiator of the 
truck engine was full. He had filled it to the brim upon his 
arrival. But every drop of that would be needed for the 
heavy drag of the back trail in the sand. 

Only a pint to keep him going through a day’s work under 
that pitiless sun! It was his last white chip. Well, he would 
play it. By evening he might feel like a» dehydrated red 
pepper. But it would not kill him. At nightfall he could 
start for the railroad. If the truck broke down, he could 
drain the radiator into the canteen and hoof-it in to the 
railroad. 

He set to work in the gray dawn. His second shaft was 
already as deep as the first one, but it had not yet reached 
bedrock. To have to leave before scraping the solid strata 
and at least making certain that it was dry here, as well as 
down the draw, would now be maddening. He worked furious¬ 
ly, with no more hourly rests. After each blast he fanned 
the poisonous fumes from the holes by lowering and waving 
one of the tarpaulins. 

By noon, though he had no more than wet his tongue each 
time, the canteen was dry—as dry as his throat. He 
toiled on, too thirsty to eat. Mid-afternoon found him 
“ gantered up. ” By sunset his eyes had sunk into their sock¬ 
ets, his cheeks were hollow, his skin had the dried-parchment 
look of a mummy. 

He lit the fuse of the charge in his last hole, dragged him¬ 
self out, and tottered aside to wait for the blast to go off. 
He would have gone straight on to his camp, only he was too 



214 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


utterly weary to make the walk without resting. 

The blast roared and sent its miniature eruption of dust 
and rock fragments spouting from the shaft mouth. The 
sun was going down behind the black barrier of the Chup- 
adera. The day was done — and so was he. That was his 
final shot — his reveille salute to the departing god of day 
and to his “busted” game. 

He had played his last white chip — and lost. The game 
was ended. Once clear of this hell-hole, he would never come 
back for love or money. Well, at any rate, he had not been 
a quitter. He had stuck on as long as there was a fighting 
chance. 

Now to drag back to the truck and pull out .... 
hold on. There was still something to do — a last matter 
of form, futile, yet necessary to his peace of mind. He must 
go down into that damnable hole and see if he could see that 
damnable bedrock. 

Wheezing through his dry nostrils and his still-drier 
tongue-choked mouth, he lowered and waved the tarpaulin. 
He labored down his ladder of holes and projecting rock cor¬ 
ners. He began to shift back-fallen stones from the middle 
of the blast-hole. Here was one whopping big fellow. Why 
be an utter fool? Leave it lie, and crawl out. But that bed¬ 
rock— 

The slab of limestone lifted and toppled over to his heave. 
Underneath lay a little mess of shattered pottery. Who the 
dickens had tossed that stuff into his well? 

After many moments of vague staring, the thought came 
to him to pick up the pieces. Perhaps that bedrock lay just 
under them. 

The broken bits of pottery were of the same ware as those 
he had found in the treasure-seekers’ pit. He scraped at them 
with his raw, blistered fingers. In the midst he touched a 
smooth object that had a different feel. He held it up close 




Dewy Diamonds 


215 


before his pain-dulled eyes. It was a metal candlestick, 
twisted and mashed but still unmistakable. 

Swift scratching outlined the unshattered lower part of the 
ancient earthenware olla. Under the fragments of its upper 
part and the dirt and bits of limestone were other metal ob¬ 
jects— a small crucifix, a chalice, another candlestick, and 
a little bell. All were black. But the blade of his knife, 
scraping through the tarnish, exposed bright silver under¬ 
neath. 

He crouched upon his haunches, staring at his find and 
trying hard to puzzle out the mystery. They were of course 
from a church — a Catholic church. No less certainly, 
they were very old. Gerda had told him that the huge- 
walled ruin had been one of the mission churches of the Span¬ 
ish friars. These altar pieces had been hidden here probably 
at the time of the Pueblo rebellion — or when the Apaches 
came in and exterminated the tribe. 

So far, clear. But why this place? The draw had shown 
no slightest indication of any ruin. This must have been 
the site of a mine or one of the underground Mvas of the 
Pueblo warriors — or else a well. True, there had been no 
sign of curbstones or walls. But- 

Again he scratched fragments. Yes, there was the out¬ 
line of a niche. It led into the up-draw side of his shaft. But 
the twilight was fading. He must make no false plays. 

He clambered out and staggered over to his camp with the 
empty canteen. Into it he drained two full quarts of water 
from the radiator, setting the bucket to catch any precious 
spilled drops. B}^ exerting all his will power, he forced him¬ 
self to drink in teaspoon sips. At the end of an hour his 
mouth and throat were fairly comfortable and he had eased 
his thirst enough to be able to sleep. 

At gray dawn he devoured a hearty breakfast of bacon, 
sugar and prunes, and hurried to his shaft with the last of 





216 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


the dynamite and half a canteen of water. 

A little probing with a drill proved the niche theory. He 
drilled into the side of the shaft, three feet above the bottom. 
When the gas of the blast had been cleared out, he scrambled 
down, shaking with a fever and ague of hot hope and cold 
dread. 

He looked into the hole made by the blast, and saw the face 
of a solid masonry wall. The limestone blocks were laid in 
hard cement. All the stonework of the dead Pueblo — even 
of the ancient mission church — was laid in adobe mortar. 

“ Ye-ow /” he yelled. 46 Spanish work — and they used 
cement because they had a cause to! ” 

He thrust his drill against the wall and swung his one-hand 
hammer. The drilling did not take long. He stopped when 
the hole was barely deep enough to hold a stick of 44 giant.” 

Up above, while the fuse sputtered, he chased wild fancies 
through the swirl of his brain-storm. What a joke if it 
should turn out to be that mythical Aztec treasure! He 
would stand a good show of ending like King Midas — 
nothing to drink unless he melted the gold or unfroze the em¬ 
eralds into green dewdrops. 

“Bam! There she busts. Now, buster boy, one more fan.” 

But the tarpaulin was not needed. When he started to 
lower it into the shaft he saw no slightest haze of powder 
smoke. With a yell, he tumbled down at break-neck speed. 

In the masonry wall was a jagged hole nearly two feet 
across. Into the hole sucked a draft so strong that it blew 
out one match after the other as fast as he could strike them. 
He paused to listen. Through the hole gurgled a soft, 
reverberant murmur. 

44 Running! ” he howled. 44 Shades of Midas, she’s running! 
Let’s run too. ” 

He raced over to his camp and came back, panting, with a 
rope, his lantern and the pail. Lantern first, then head and 




Demy Diamonds 


217 


shoulders, he thrust in through the hole. The light glinted on 
the damp stones of a circular wall. Less than six feet down 
the rays danced upon the surface of flowing water. To the 
left was a ragged gap in the wall, through which the spring- 
rill flowed out and down into a narrow cleft. 

“ So that’s how they killed their water. Now for a look up¬ 
stairs. ” 

He looked — only to duck his head and scrouge back into 
the hole. Hardly a yard above him the five-foot well was 
roofed over with huge rough-hewn beams of cedar. What if 
they should crumble and let down all the tons of fill above 
them onto his head? 

It did not seem possible those logs could ’have remained 
there for two centuries and a half without rotting. After his 
days of blasting so close alongside, they must be ready to give 
way at a touch. And if they did crumble, the mass of fill 
would drop down and choke the spring! 

With cautious haste, he drew back and knotted the rope 
to the pail. Still more cautiously, he lowered the pail through 
the hole and dipped it full of water. Not since he had left the 
mountains of Colorado had he tasted water so cool and pure. 

He drank until he could not drink another drop. Then he 
filled the canteen and refilled the pail. After that he ventured 
to reach in and upwards with one of the drills. Its chisel-bit 
thrust only a little way into the cedar beams. They were less 
rotten than they looked. 



CHAPTER XXVI 


HOW TO MAKE ’EM LAUGH 

T HE Kay Kay ranch lay blistering in the arid heat of the 
prolonged drought. Out of the northeast jogged a big, 
ugly, heavy-shouldered rat-tailed rawboned horse with 
chuckle head down-sagged. His lean rider sat limp in the 
saddle, bent forward with hands on the horn to ease the jolt 
of the trot. 

The horse appeared to be slouching along, ready to run 
down, like an unwound clock, and go to sleep. But his rider 
did not urge him to quicken his gait. The miles were crawl¬ 
ing steadily backwards under the long swing of those big 
hoofs. They crawled a good deal faster than would have 
appeared to the eye of a casual observer. 

“Ante horse,” inquired his rider, “ do you think it will be 
oats and a box stall this time, or no-trespassers-allowed? 
Well, anyhow, we feel gay, Ante. We may not look it, but 
we do. We feel like busting into song. We feel like chortling 
a chant of them good old days: 

When knighthood went to seed. 

And Qui-ho-tay rode his steed 
Fiery Ante — Rosinante.” 

Ante sagged his head still lower. 

“What? Want to be left out of it, do you? If only you 
were a mule, that’s where you’d have come in on the chorus. 
Well, how does this other chortle strike you, old-timer: 

Oh, young Lochinvar loped out of the west, 

Out of the west, as the sun went down. 

He thought of the lady he loved the best, 

His heart going pitti-pat under his vest. 

He yanked forth his six-gun — imagine the rest! 


How to Make 'Em Laugh 


219 


“ Hold on. That was the wrong point of the compass. 
Le’s have another throw, Ante horse. Please don’t mind my 
voice. You know it’s a lovely baritone; only, last time I 
dined ’with that French chef, one of the frogs stuck in my 
throat. 

“ Stop flopping your ears, Ante. This one’s going to be 
a corker. Such vim! Such fire! Such action! A whole 
seething, fizzing epic, compressed and done up in tabloid 
form, like Fleischmann’s best. Um-m-m — Ah — A-a-a-ah — 
Ah! that’s it! 

A-a-ah, young Lochinvar jogged from the nor’east. 

The home-brew was foaming and frothing like yeast. 

He skee-yewered the willun; he smiled at the lass; 

And blew all the froth V scum offen the — uh — range. 

“Hah! Behold her storied castle — two-storied. The em¬ 
battled battlements, the corrals, the cowsheds, and all the 
other adjuncts and modifiers thereunto appertaining. Keep 
your weather eye peeled, Loch, old boy. The Bogie Man’ll 
git you ef you don’t watch out. To lance, Quijote de la 
Mancha! Hone your trusty blade, D’Artagnan! We may 
have a close shave. 

“Ante, ain’t you got a particle of hoss sense? Try to re¬ 
member we ain’t found no Aztec treasure. Slump into a walk, 
get out your glycerine tears, face the camera, drag forward 
one weary hoof slowly over t’other. All ready? Start your 
action. Grind! ” 

They came down-slope to the Kay Kay stable at a sham¬ 
bling walk. Old Jake squinted up from his bridle plaiting, in 
the shade of the east end. Tyrrel looked down at him, long¬ 
faced. 

“ ’Lo, you pestiferous old screech owl. How’re cases?” 

“Heh! Well, I’ll be gosh-rotted if ’tain’t the buster kid! 
Where’d you blow in from, sonny? ” 

“ From over there, dad, riding the long, long trail that’s 



220 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


winding to the land o’ my dreams. Folks to home? ” 

“ There or thereabouts. Off-saddle and chase yourself in. 
Reckon Cookie’ll give you a handout to keep you staggering 
till supper.” 

Tyrrel threw his saddle on the top rail of the horse corral 
and led Ante in to the box stall next to Lobo’s. The 
thoroughbred thrust his shapely head above the side of his 
stalled and whinnied. 

“Yes, it’s me, you crazy old man-eating wolf horse,” 
Tyrrel returned the greeting. “We’ve come to smouge a feed 
of your oats for this mule of mine. Best to get it while we 
can. We may have to adjourn our visit in the gloaming.” 

His voice sank to a murmured hum. 

“ 6 In the gloaming, oh, my darling, when the lights are dim 
and low . 5 Whoa, Lochinvar! Don’t get ahead of your 
horses! ” t 

As he slipped from the stable he came face to face with 
Butch and Redeye. They had recognized his saddle, and 
were firing questions at old Jake. Tyrrel’s heart was too full 
of brotherly and other love to hold any rancour. He held 
out a friendly hand. 

“ Howdy, boys! What d’you say we bury the hatchet? ” 

Redeye had stepped back warily. Butch held his ground. 
Both ignored the proffered hand. 

“ What’d you do to Slim ? ” queried he of the one eye. 

“What didn’t I do to him! I’m telling you fellers it was 
somethin’ awful! I done wrung from him his solemn promise 
he’d go home to his mammy.” 

“Don’t you try to be funny with me,” growled Butch. 
“ Slim ain’t got no maw. Never did have.” 

“If that is so, I’m all the more pleased over what I did. 
It might edify you gents to learn what that was. Write and 
ask him.” 

“We know a’ready. Mat told us,” said Redeye. “You 



How to Make 'Em Laugh 


221 


trailed poor Slim like a snake. You shot him down in cold 
blood, from behind, when he had his hands up.” 

“All right. Have it your own way, angel-faces,” agreed 
Tyrrel. “ Trouble with you birds, you haven’t nerve enough 
to shoot a man down, either from front or rear — if he packs 
a gun.” 

He turned his back on the pair and went over to take a 
small bundle from his saddlebags and unstrap one of the two 
canteens. Both men craned their necks to stare at the gold- 
and-pearl hilt that sat high in the fancy old silver-embossed 
holster. Neither made a move. 

Old Jake cackled derisively: 

“ H-Heh! heh! heh! Mighty purty, ain’t she, fellers? 
She’s Don Maneel’s ol’ shootin’-iron. Puts ’em where you 
aim. They’s two-three crosses on the plate. Seed her col¬ 
lect the third. He was a dirty cheatin’ skunk of a card- 
sharp. Favored you a deal in looks and desposition, Red — 
on’y he had one more ornery eye.” 

Redeye jerked his thumb at Butch. They sidled around 
the corner of the stable. The old wrangler met Tyrrel’s look 
with a grin. 

“ Don’t you bother none ’bout me, kid. I’m branded Kay 
Kay all over from horn to hoof. They dasn’t so much as 
scratch me — not even Big Mat. Miss Gerdy’d bite their 
heads off. I worked for her pa. You didn’t. Best get you 
a pair of specs with lookin’-glass panels.” 

“ Think I’ll have to watch out behind, do you? ’Twouldn’t 
surprise me a-tall, dad.” 

When he rang the old bell at the gate of the inner patio , 
he still carried the canteen and the bundle. Sooner than he 
expected, the prim housemaid drew the gate open a few 
inches to peer out at him. She was a woman. He lifted 
his old hat to her. 

“ The cat’s come back, Mary Jane. Where’s the canary? ” 




222 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


The gate swung wide open. 

“Pardon me, Mr. Tyrrel! Your ringing, you know — I 
thought it must be a stranger. If you will take this seat, 
please. I will see if Miss — if the ladies are at home. Or 
was it Mr. Keith you wished to see?” 

A girlish voice called from the midst of the garden: 

“Who’s who, Janet? If it’s a handsome hombre , show him 
in.” 

Tyrrel promptly advanced. 

“Hear that, Mary Jane? ’Tain’t my fault, though. I 
was born that way. Bet you two bits, my mommy thought 
me the prettiest baby that ever was. But to a man, Mary 
Jane, beauty is a sad, sad handicap. It’s apt to make him 
immodest — if you get me.” 

This raillery brought them around the bend of the path 
into view of the fountain. Down from the lower branches 
of the peach tree under which he had laid the knocked-out 
Keith, came a shriek, a pair of dainty silk-clad legs, and a 
blushing black-eyed senorita. From the half-filled basket be¬ 
side the tree trunk straightened up a Norse goddess in old 
rose and green. 

Both gazed wide-eyed at the housemaid’s follower. Boots 
and chaps, shirt and hat, all were dusty and begrimed. His 
lean body drooped dejectedly. His face had a downcast 
look. The only thing bright about him was the silver of the 
old Chavez belt and holster. 

“ Oh, Dick! ” Pilar cried out her disappointment and 
sympatlyy. “Then you didn’t find the treasure?” 

“ I don’t believe there’s a pinhead of Aztec gold in all that 
graveyard, Miss Chavez,” he delivered his honest conviction. 
His grave gaze turned to fix upon Gerda’s tense face and in¬ 
scrutable eyes. “Well, I done played my last white chip, 
ma’am.” 

The gray-green eyes flashed, exultant. 



How to Make J Em Laugh 


228 


“ You’ve come to ask for that job?” 

“Why — no — thank you just the same, Miss Keith.” 

“ Then why are you here? ” 

He shifted to the other foot and cast a glance over the wall 
at the sun. 

“ It’s ’most five o’clock. I thought maybe as how you 
might invite me to sit on my elbow and eat a cup of tea.” 

Pilar giggled and dived into the basket. 

“Here’s half a bushel of peachy peaches, Don Ricardo. 
Wouldn’t they do as well as tea?” 

“ Maybe, if I had plenty of cream and sugar. I like 
peaches, Miss Elberta—’specially real sweet ones.” 

Gerda spoke pleasantly to the waiting housemaid: 

“ Please tell the gentlemen, Janet, that we have a caller.” 

Tyrrel’s face brightened. He smiled persuasively at Pilar. 

“You might do that yourself, little girl, while Mary Jane 
fetches the cream and sugar.” 

Gerda straightened to her full height. Her chin went up. 
She signed the maid to go, and spoke coldly to her cousin: 

“You will stay here, Pilar. If this man has not come to 
beg me for a job, there is no reason for him to see me alone.” 

“ Sounds like thumbs down for yours truly,” said Tyrrel. 
“ Oh, well, let’s all smile and rest our faces. I wouldn’t mind 
a little social relaxation during this all-too-brief stop-over on 
my long, long trail — to Socorro.” 

“ Socorro? You’re going on west? ” 

“You said there are sheep ranches down the river.” 

Gerda’s temper flared. 

“You’re insolent! You can make Socorro by nightfall — 
if you start at once and go as fast as I would like you to.” 

Tyrrel looked down at the empty canteen and slowly 
turned it over and over between his half-healed palms. 

“ Somebody forgot this, up there at the honeyard of my 
dreams. I was going to ask who belongs to it. It was full of 



224 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


the milk of human kindness. No matter now, though. The 
milk has soured.” 

The thrust got home. Gerda winced and wavered. But 
only for a moment. 

“ Soured is right! If you want to know, I left the water, 
to break even with you on that fool horse-drinking stunt. I 
didn’t intend you should get ahead of me that way.” 

“The joke is on you,” replied Tyrrel. “I thought the 
milk was sweet. That was what kept me from quitting right 
away. Instead, I hung on. The last pint in the can was my 
last white chip.” 

“You stayed on — like a balky mule! You’ve made your¬ 
self the laughing-stock of all the county. Mat has peddled 
it over in Socorro. Better open a show there as a comedian. 
All you need do is to tell them who you are. That will get a 
laugh every time. They know what you are.” 

“Appearances often deceive,” murmured Tyrrel. “ F’in- 
stance, beauty—some beauty — is only skin deep.” 

“ Some idiocy is bone deep — and the bone is on top of your 
neck! ” cried Gerda. “No girl in the state who has a particle 
of self-respect would look at you, except to laugh.” 

“ I’ll not ask them to do all that. They need only smile — 
like this sweet little girl who gave me her dad’s gilt-edged 
smoke-wagon. If she doesn’t want it back, I’ll swap her-” 

“No, no — Poder de Dios! Can you think I’m an In jin 
giver ? ” 

“ Then, Poder de Powder River! It’s going to be gift for 
gift. I found no Aztec gold or emeralds. But-” 

Keith came hastening under the pear tree, with Welsh half 
a step behind his shoulder. Neither looked pleased. Even 
Keith did not offer his hand, nor did he smile. 

“So, Tyrrel — you’ve turned up again?” 

“ Isn’t that what the bad penny always is supposed to 
do?” 





How to Make 'Em Laugh 


22 5 


“ Glad you admit it!” said Welsh, a trifle hazy in grammar 
but not in meaning. 

Tyrrel looked down at the bundle in his hand and started 
to untie its string. 

44 Didn’t mean to disturb you gentlemen. I’m just passing 
through. If someone will kindly send for the silver polish. 
It’s just a small gift I’ve brought for Miss Chavez. Thought 
she might value them, being a Catholic. As I was remarking 
to the ladies, I found no gold or emeralds; but I did bust into 
these.” 

He opened out the bundle. Gerda alone held back from the 
forward movement to peer at the black objects in the paper. 
Welsh looked blank, then smiled with sardonic mirth. 

44 Thought so! I savvied he was that kind, Don. He’s 
gone and robbed a church.” 

But Keith hushed him with a quick gesture and frown. 
Pilar had dropped upon her knees and was making the sign 
of the cross. Tyrrel placed the blackened relics in her rever¬ 
ent hands and took off his hat. 

44 There was a niche in the rock,” he explained. 44 My 
guess is that some convert who hadn’t backslid saved them out 
of the loot of the mission church, at the time of the great 
Spanish massacre. He planted them, and then the Apaches 
came and wiped out the tribe. They’ve stayed planted all 
these two and a half centuries.” 

44 Pretty thin!” muttered Welsh. 

44 You say you found nothing else?” asked Keith. 

‘‘Nothing except-” 

Gerda broke in with ironical sympathy. 

44 Except your fame as a comedian! We must not detain 
Mr. Tyrrel, Donnie. He is on his way to Socorro to play 
the lead in his big success, 4 How to make ’em laugh.’ ” 

44 ’Struth,” confirmed Tyrrel. “And I’ve got a follow-up 
act entitled, 4 How to make ’em cry.’ You know the saying, 




226 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


6 Laughter is akin to tears.’ There’s going to be a lot of 
moisture spilled around before I finish. Well, so long, folks. 
Mil gracias for your hospitality.” 

Pilar sprang up, with the precious crucifix and chalice, bell 
and candlesticks clasped to her bosom. She clutched Tyr- 
rel’s sleeve. 

“ You’re not going now, Dick; shame on you, Gerda! Don 
gave him permission to come and see me.” 

“After making himself so unutterably ridiculous, I should 
think even he would have known enough to stay away from 
here,” said Gerda. 

“You hear that, little querido girl? Simon says, thumbs 
down. Off with his head! Awful, is it not? Farewell, 
Barbara Allan! How I do go on! Empty heart — head, I 
should say — with airy nothings rattling around in its 
vacuity. But before I go off, there’s that little matter of the 
peach of a stone, Pilar amiga. You remember, I said you 
should have one. What’s your choice?” 

“But — but that was if you found the treasure.” 

“Name your sparkler. Who else have I got to lavish my 
hard-earned pennies on? I can go as high as two-fifty, 
marked down to two-ninety-eight. What shall it be? A 
pearl to match the snowy whiteness of your teeth — and soul; 
a ruby to glow like the warmth of your little heart; an em¬ 
erald to — no, emeralds stand for envy, hatred, and malice 
and all uncharitableness. But a diamond — sparkling like 
the dewdrops of your tender tears aglister in the sunshine 
of your smile.” 

“My Gawd!” choked Welsh. 

“ Oh, a diamond! ” cried Pilar. “ Girls always choose 
diamonds for their rings!” 

Keith drew away from the others and very quietly went 
back into the casa. No one noticed his going, not even Pilar. 
She caught her breath. 



How to Make ’Em Laugh 


227 


“You’re so generous, Dick! And your elocution . . . . 
if some other men would learn to say lovely things like 
that, I — I think more girls would be happy.” 

“ Only trouble, it calls for reciprocity,” replied Tyrrel. 

He looked steadily at the cold eyes of Gerda. They gazed 
back at him, unwavering, without the slightest trace of 
warmth or softness. He put on his hat and lifted it to her. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Keith. Like unto the face of 
Medea! Once more, chiquita , fare thee well! ” 

“ Adios, Don Ricardo! I’ll put these holy relics in my 
shrine, and pray for you.” 

46 You’re a darling!” said Tyrrel. 

He kissed her upturned forehead, shot a smile at Gerda, 
and went striding away around the path to the gate. Pilar 
turned to look at her cousin. At sight of Gerda’s face she 
gasped a little cry of fright and fled into the casa , clutching 
her relics. 



CHAPTER XXVII 


THE HAUGHTY SPIRIT 

W ELSH was not lacking in shrewdness. When he saw 
that Keith had gone, he followed after Pilar, leaving 
Gerda alone in the patio. 

At the far corner was a grape arbor. She moved slowly 
towards it. The bed of American Beauties was in her way. 
She walked through the midst. Her eyes were raised above 
the roses, in a vacant gaze fixed upon space. They did not 
see the broken stems whose thorns tore at her silk stockings, 
or the big buds that were crushed by her feet. 

But the perfume of the bruised flowers came up into her 
white face. She saw him as he had bent beside her in the 
brilliant moonlight, that glorious night of nights, breaking 
off for her the thorny stems of the buds with his bare hands. 
Why had God cursed her with such pride — with such a 
temper ? 

She trampled over other flowers. They did not matter. 
They were not her roses — hers and his! 

The tangle of grape tendrils across the arbor door com¬ 
pelled her to lower her head. It remained lowered after she 
sank down upon the bench. But she did not droop forward 
with her face upon the rustic table. She was no Pilar. 

Her thoughts milled round and round in a mad whirl, 
lashed by rage and love and hate. 

Why had he done it? Why had he made such a fool of 
himself? Anything else than that would have been possible 
for her to forgive. But for him to go and make himself the 
butt — the laughing-stock of the county — of the state — of 
the whole state! 


228 


The Haughty Spirit 


229 


That make-believe of his over Pilar — the silly little flirt! 
Even if it had been real, she could have wiped out all his 
memory of those pretty black eyes with a single kiss .... 
with a kiss like the one she had given him that night before 
the night of nights! The first man except Donnie that her 
proud lips had ever touched. And now they were laughing 
about him at Socorro — about him, the man she had allowed 
herself to love! 

If only she could tear that love out of her heart, crush it 
down, stamp upon it — as she had trodden upon the roses. 
Their odor had risen from the dust, all the more fragrant 
from the trampling. Was it like the spirit of love? Not 
her love, most certainly! How about his? 

She would not, could not bend. Her will was like steel — 
not a blade, but a steel column. It might possibly be broken, 
but it could not be bent. His mind was like his body — a 
bundle of whale-bone. It was supple. It gave to pressure. 
Yet always it straightened back to where it had been before. 
In reality, he was no more bendable than herself. 

That frightful outlaw Still Hell would have broken the iron 
frame of Big Mat Welsh to pieces. Tyrrel, with his whale¬ 
bone suppleness, had ridden the king of buckers to a stand. 
And he had gentled Lobo with a few strokes of his hands. 
Well, he had tried to gentle her, and he had not succeeded. 
She would have sided him of her own free will — had he not 
gone after the Aztec hoax. 

Mat had lost no time. By now the story would be spread¬ 
ing up the valley and down — and over to Santa Fe and 
Roswell — everywhere! She had friends and acquaintances 
in every town, most of them possessed of a hearty sense of 
humor. That stale old many-times-exploded myth of the 
Montezuma treasure! If only it had been anything else not 
quite so utterly silly! 

He, gentle her — Gerda Keith — whose father had ranged 



230 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


his first herd in Apache country! But what was he up to, 
anyway? He had spoken of women being like horses. This 
obstinacy of his — this refusal to eat crow even after his 
ludicrous fizzle — this refusal to ask for his job, when he well 
knew it would mean swift steps upwards, from rider to fore¬ 
man, from foreman to partner! He had lost, yet he refused 
to sing low. What could be his game? 

He had failed to gentle her. Was he thinking to try the 
curb? Come to look back, he undoubtedly had made tenta¬ 
tive tests — only she had been quick to take the bit in her 
teeth, and he had not followed up. 

But that was no argument he was afraid to try. Even 
with Still Hell he would have started off easy if his purpose 
had been to make that beast his own. What if he should 
tackle her as he had tackled that demon? It had almost 
killed him. Yet he had not quit. He had ridden the horse 
demon to a stand. How about those twin devils of her own 
— her pride and her temper? 

A flood of scarlet fire flamed in her white cheeks. The 
twin devils glared from her gray-green eyes. What! He 
break her — Gerda Keith — third owner and equal partner 
in the Kay Kay? He, the penniless ruined beggar — the 
zany, the bobo, the boob, the butt of all New Mexico! The 
mere suggestion was a joke. Yet — he had ridden Still Hell! 

A sudden cold dread clutched her heart — chilled her blood. 
It was like a premonition of evil. She shuddered. If he 
should try to break her, she would never quit. She would 
fight so long as there was a breath of life left in her. There 
would be no pause for resting. Once started, it would have 
to keep on. One of them would have to die. 

But why be so tragic? He might never come back. Men 
have faced lions, swords, cannon, poison gas — only to run 
away from ridicule. She might hear of him next on a sheep 
ranch, or as dictator of a Central American republic. He 



The Haughty Spirit 


231 


was that kind. But could even he stand the gaff of sarcasm, 
the sting of irony, the bludgeon of brutal gibes? 

In the office Welsh was listening sullenly to Keith’s careful 
summary of their range riders’ opinions on the condition of 
the Kay Kay cattle and grass and water. His mind was 
upon another matter. What was the use of going over what 
they had known all along would happen if the rains held off? 
He broke in with brusque impatience. 

“ Old stuff, Don. It all boils down to this: We’ll lose 
some, not much, on the cows and young calves. We’ll lose a 
devil of a lot in beef — those feeders not laying on weight. ” 

“ That is how Tyrrel put it. ” 

The name was a red flag to Welsh. 

“Him? The sneaking slick Dick! He’s at the bottom of 
the whole damnable business. You were sharp enough to 
unload all our own feeders during that upspurt in the market. 
But along comes the skunk and cooks up this deal with that 
old scoundrel Hack How. He buncos Gerda into buying his 
fake option-” 

“ Give the devil his due, Mat. That end of the transaction 
was a bargain. For another thing, you backed her against 
me.” 

“Why?” Welsh thumped his big fist down on the desk 
top. “Hadn’t he tangled her up with his fancy rope work? 
Wasn’t she all primed to pull out of the Kay Kay and throw 
in with him?” 

“Oh, well. That’s all history. Didn’t you tell me just 
now she has sent him packing for good? Our present concern 
is how to get out from under this feeder fizzle without too 
great a loss.” 

“ May save our hides, but not our hair,” growled Welsh. 
“We stand to lose between twenty and thirty thousand, 
carrying over those Lazy S Bars — thanks to your slick 
friend!” 




232 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“No friend of mine. You know that. But forget him, 
and get down to business. We’re rid of him now. He has 
gone off for good this time.” 

“Has he? How about that diamond ring for the little 
girl ? ” 

Keith started to rise from his desk chair, but, instead, 
slumped back in it and wiped the top of his head. 

“That was — was only a play to hit at Gerda.” 

“Wait and see. I’m betting it was to give him an excuse 
for turning up again.” 

“ Forget it, Mat! You’ve gone loco over the fellow.” 

Welsh’s eyes went red. 

“Can you wonder, after what he’s done to Gerda — and 
Pilar ? ” 

“ Kindly leave Miss Chavez out of this, Welsh. I am fully 
satisfied "with regard to the conduct of my ward. If she is 
interested in — anyone — that is none of your concern.” 

The nose of the little man had the same white, pinched 
look about the nostrils that had preceded his attack on 
Tyrrel. But Welsh was no baby. 

“ I’ll bet there’ll be blood in your eye when he gets to brag¬ 
ging, down there in the greaser sheep camps, about his amar 
with the hija of Don Miguel Chavez. But you’re right. 
That’s none of my funeral. Gerda is.” 

Keith tapped his desk top. 

“Are you certain of that — about my sister?” 

“ Sure as shooting. You’ve known all along why I came 
into the Kay Kay. So has she. If that son of a you-know- 
what hadn’t butted into the game, I’d have had my rope on 
her by now.” 

“ Possibly. However, I have known of ropes being slipped 
or broken.” 

A grim smile twisted Welsh’s thin lips. 

“No slipping for her. She’d bust it if she did anything. 



The Haughty Spirit 


233 


But once I get my brand on her-” 

“ I have also known of brands being blotted.” 

u God help the rustler who tries it, after she’s mine — or 
before! ” 

“I admire your sanguine temperament rather more than 
your sanguinary temperature,” bantered Keith in the same 
tone of quiet irony. 

Welsh squared himself in his chair. 

“ See here, Don, this ain’t getting us anywhere. You’re 
the last man I want to row with. I’m going to put it 
straight. I don’t savvy women. Gerda’s a mighty skittish 
filly-” 

“ She’s a thoroughbred,” interjected her brother. 

“ Shake on that, old man! Here’s my proposition: Help 
me get my rope on her, and I stand her share of the loss from 
those feeders.” 

The brother took off and wiped his shell-rimmed spectacles. 
He held them up to the light to make sure they were clear, and 
put them on to scrutinize Welsh. 

“ You can’t mean to tell me you love her as much as that? ” 

“ It’s no joke, Don. I’d bust hell wide open to win her! ” 

Again Keith tapped his desk top. 

“You have my permission to go there and try it.” 

Welsh’s fist almost smashed the mahogany. 

“You — rounded on me, have you? Won’t back me to 
get her ? ” 

“ If I had had any such inclination heretofore, this would 
have disposed of it,” replied Keith, as cool as his partner was 
hot. “You have been a big asset to the Kay Kay, Mr. 
Welsh — in a business way.” 

“ That’s no lie. It was my sixty thousand cash saved 
your outfit from bankruptcy, and you know it. I sold out 
the old W Bar to save you and Gerda from that. I’ve 
worked, worked like a nigger to make a go of the Kay Kay — 






234 _ Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


and this is what I get for it! Thrown down and kicked in 
the face!” 

“ Isn’t that putting it rather strong, Mat? Nor would we 
have gone bankrupt. But what you have done is admitted. 
You’ve lived up to your contract. I have no fault to find 
on that score. If you wish to draw out now, you may do so 
in accordance with the terms. On the other hand, if you wish 
to stay in, you are welcome — as a business partner.” 

“ Business be blowed! I want Gerda. I’m going to have 
her.” 

“ That, I believe, is for her to decide.” 

There was no breaking through the calm surface of the 
little man. Welsh sat for several moments cooling off and 
thinking. At last: 

“You refuse to help me?” 

“ I decline to interfere. Gerda is quite capable of taking 
care of herself.” 

“But you’ll not buck against me?” 

“ I am not so sure about that. You are a cowman right, 
Mat. At least, you know all there is to know about the 
range end of the game, if not about the delivered beef end. 
You will keep on running strong — unless you smash your 
head against a stone wall. You know, the main walls of the 
casa are three feet thick.” 

“ Her door is not.” 

“It’s thick enough to stop a mule—but you’ve said it. 
That is one of my points. You want to smash in. No need 
for me to mention certain other characteristics of yours to 
which I object. This one is sufficient. Can’t you see that 
if you and Gerda should hitch up, you couldn’t stay hitched 
a week? ” 

“I’m willing to chance it.” 

“I’m not.” 

Welsh heaved up to lean across the desk. 



The Haughty Spirit 


235 


“All right. We’ll see about that. I call you for my third 
in the Kay Kay, as per contract — cash down.” 

“Very well. But that means one-third of the present 
value. If we cannot agree on the amount, it may take some 
time to get through the arbitration.” 

“I’ll accept Gerda’s valuation.” 

“I will not. That pride of hers! She would give you 
everything, through fear of holding back a cent that did not 
belong to us. No. We’ll figure up the assets and liabilities 
— I will. If the both of you can’t agree with my totals, you 
and I will run into Socorro tomorow and get our arbitrators 
started on it. I shall go in anyway. Must see if we can 
dispose of the feeders. Every day means more loss.” 

“ I’ll go with you in any case, Don. I’ve a bit of private 
business in town. About Gerda — I warn you to keep your 
fingers out of the pie. If you try to set her against me, 
you’ll wish you hadn’t. Is that clear?” 

“ Perfectly.” 

Frowning but with a shrewd look in the corner of his cold 
blue eyes, Welsh left the office. He could play rather a good 
hand at poker. 

At dinner he kept as quiet and dignified as was in his 
nature, while the brother and sister discussed and disagreed 
over the Kay Kay valuation. Gerda’s estimate was so far 
above her brother’s that arbitration had to be decided upon. 
Welsh took no part in their dispute, and he very carefully 
made no remarks about Tyrrel. 

After dessert he maneuvered Pilar out into the garden with 
him. Keith immediately took the opportunity to give Gerda 
his opinion of their partner as a matrimonial risk. No less 
promptly, Welsh’s stock went up to par. He had not been 
mistaken in counting upon the girl’s contrariety .and head¬ 
strong willfulness. 

The more her brother argued Welsh’s faults, the more 



236 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


favorably disposed she became towards the attacked man. 
This was not all due to her less desirable traits. There was 
her generosity. Welsh was not present to defend himself. 

Still another factor was the old one of the rebound. She 
had broken with Tyrrel. 

Last but not least was her fiercely repressed yet unde¬ 
stroyed dread that, if given opportunity, Tyrrel might try to 
break her with his broncho busting tactics. If that was his 
intention, the only thing in all the world that could forestall 
him would be marriage to another man. 



CHAPTER XXVIII 


DIAMONDS AND HEARTS 

K EITH and Welsh did not get started for Socorro until 
afternoon of the next day. They drove alone, much as 
Pilar wished to go with them. 

The mere thought of hearing her friends laugh about “ that 
Aztec treasure boob ” made Gerda hot with shame. He 
might even have the cheek to accost the Kay Kay party. 
What was he not capable of doing! At least he should not 
come across her in Socorro. 

She was no less firmly resolved that he should not see Pilar. 
In this she had the backing of Keith. Pilar fled to her room 
in tears when her guardian mildly stated that Tyrrel had 
the right to visit her at the ranch, but she should not be per¬ 
mitted to run after him. 

At the parting Gerda was more gracious to Welsh than 
she had been since the beginning of their trip to the rodeo. 
He drove to town in far better humor than Keith. Though 
in places the road was none too good, he stepped on the ac¬ 
celerator whenever speed did not spell suicide. The big car 
fairly whizzed along. 

They made it to the feebly flowing Rio Grande and across, 
without a crash or even a blow-out. Keith went to see the 
banker, merchant, and stockman named as arbitrators in the 
Kay Kay partnership agreement. 

Welsh first attended to his private business at the office of 
one of the county officials. The business was private enough 
to call for the slipping over of a ten-dollar bank note, in ad¬ 
dition to the fee. Afterwards he did some small shopping 
for Gerda. 


237 


238 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


As he left the store he saw the weekly paper just coming 
off the little press in the newspaper shop. He stepped in to 
get a copy. The old editor gave him a wink and pointed to 
the headline on the front page. 

There was nothing raw or crude about “A Regretful Re¬ 
port on the Latest Endeavor to Locate the Lost Aztec 
Treasure.” The fake write-up had been done by one who 
knew his Cervantes. The style was serious. Don Quixote 
de la Mancha was gravely mentioned as one of the first seekers 
for the treasure; Baron Munchausen as another. Its exist¬ 
ence was proved by a “literal quotation” from Gulliver's 
Travels. 

Some of the packages for Gerda were wrapped in the last 
week’s paper. Welsh untied and re-wrapped them in pieces 
of the new issue. He first tore off the corner of the front 
page, aslant the lower part of the “news story.” He had 
the editor mark another copy as for mailing. When he re¬ 
turned to the car he tied up that second sheet of dynamite 
in the midst of the Kay Kay mail. 

Keith reported that one of the arbitrators had gone up to 
Albuquerque for three or four days. Should they select 
another man to act in his place? 

“ Let it ride,” said Welsh. “ I’m willing to wait that long. 
You might run up the line yourself. May possibly happen 
onto a buyer for those feeders. The sale price will make a 
big item in our settlement.” 

“That was what I had in mind, Mat. No show of a deal 
here. I may go as far as Santa Fe — possibly all the way 
around to Roswell.” 

“ Suits me. Take your time and look about. The better 
the deal you scrape up, the bigger my slice of cake.” 

Keith took the train north to Albuquerque. In the morn¬ 
ing one of the first men he saw as he left his hotel was Tyrrel. 
He started to pass by, with a cool nod. Tyrrel stepped be- 




Diamonds and Hearts 


289 


fore him. 

“ Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Keith, but you’re an angel in 
disguise. I need to cash that check of Jacarilla Howbert’s. 
Paid for a wire to and from his bank, to assure this bank his 
account is good for the two thousand. But I’ll have to be 
identified.” 

“ Very well, Tyrrel. I was going that way.” 

At the bank Tyrrel’s difficulties were settled by Keith’s 
laconic word. 

“ I know this man, Tom.” 

The cashier looked at Tyrrel with a face blank of all ex¬ 
pression. 

“How will you have it? Gold, emeralds, or traveler’s 
checks ? ”■ 

“ I might say twenty-dollar goldbugs, Mr. Cash,” replied 
Tyrrel. “They’d be handy to chuck at the midges buzzing 
hereabouts. Suit yourself, though. Bank notes will do. I 
was going to open a checking account with you. Man, you’ve 
missed it! I didn’t find a single quarter-caret emerald or a 
speck of gold dust. But diamonds — all those glinting, glis¬ 
tening, glistering dewdrop diamonds — whole stream of dia¬ 
monds, sliding, sliding, sliding!” 

The banker drew back and slipped away, with a murmured 
excuse about bringing the money himself. Lunatics are apt 
to be most dangerous when they smile. 

Keith’s gray eyes focused through their big glasses upon 
the twinkling eyes of the “ madman.” He spoke in a low tone. 

“ Sliding — dewdrops ? ” 

“ What d’you think of this one — for our little girl ? ” 
asked Tyrrel. 

He pulled out a pink-velvet jeweler’s case from his pocket 
and snapped open the lid. Keith stared perplexedly at the 
enameled gold pansy with its small diamond dewdrop. 

“But — it’s not .... not a — ring.” 



240 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“Nor a rhinestone, either. Best diamond I could pick up 
on short notice. Small gem, but good color and no flaws. 
Wouldn’t want to give her one that wasn’t as white and per¬ 
fect as herself, would I?” 

“ I don’t know but what I am forced to believe you, 
Tyrrel.” 

The cashier returned with two packages of twenty-dollar 
bank notes, each marked “$1,000.00” on its paper band. 
Tyrrel wadded them carelessly into the pocket of his overalls 
and tossed down a ten. 

“You’re forgetting your exchange, Mr. Cash. Keep the 
change. Mr. Keith, I’m obliged for your accommodating me. 
I’d like you to step outside and see that dewdrop sparkle.” 

Keith stopped in the doorway. 

“What is it you want?” 

“Might I ask you to take the pansy to her, with my love 
-—my brotherly love?” 

The qualification stopped Keith midway of turning his 
back on the teaser. Tyrrel met his puzzled look with a boy¬ 
ish grin. 

“Well, anyhow, it hasn’t reached the ring stage yet. But 
there’s no telling. She’s a little peach. I may get hungry. 
Better cart off the stone before I decide to get it re-set as a 
hondo for a ring noose.” 

“ Come to my hotel. I want to talk with you,” said Keith. 

Up in his room, in the shady corner of the hotel, he handed 
Tyrrel one of his fine cigars, rinsed off his head with ice water, 
and went straight at his objective. 

“ You have found the killed water of Tabru. Is it worth 
mentioning? ” 

“ I’d just as leave as not tell you now, Mr. Keith. Prop¬ 
erly handled, it should water three to four thousand 
head-” 


“Three to four thousand! In heaven’s name, boy, why 




Diamonds and Hearts 


241 


didn’t you tell us at the ranch? For you to come dragging 
in that way—stand there and let yourself be mocked as a 
fool!” 

Tyrrel’s smile grew a shade wistful. 

“Ho, ho, the queen’s jester! Nothing like a fool to fool 
the wise birds! ” 

“You didn’t take that gaffing for the fun of it.” 

“Hardly. There’s a reason. Ante is some traveler, but 
he isn’t uppity enough to try road-racing with a Kay Kay 
double-six car. As it is, that spring has been filed on first by 
a man from Colorado.” 

“You can’t possibly think that we-” 

“Two of a kind doesn’t necessarily mean that the third is 
white, Mr. Keith.” 

For a full minute Keith sucked slowly at his cigar. When 
he spoke, his thoughts appeared to have gone off at a tangent. 

“You could make a ring of it now. I did not forbid you 
to come to the ranch even when I thought you a fool.” 

“Thanks. You seem mighty anxious to get rid of her. 
If I was in your shoes, I’d be apt to put up a cactus fence 
and buy a bulldog. What is it you dislike about the little 
lady?” 

“Dislike her — I?” Keith choked on his cigar smoke, 
coughed, and forced his voice back to its usual unemotional 
mildness. “You must have seen. When displeased, she 
pouts or sticks pins into me. When pleased, she treats me 
like a nice old uncle.” 

“ She’s a darling! With me it’s a case of ‘Ah, how happy 
I should be if t’other dear charmer were away ! 9 Fact is, Mr. 
Keith", I’m a bigger fool than I look. I’m a bear for hornet 
honey. I know that so far as I’m concerned, all the sweetness 
in that nest has been converted into vinegar. Yet-” 

“ In plain English, you still are in love with Gerda.” 

“I admit the soft impeachment.” 





242 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Keith’s cigar began to smoke up faster. Between puffs he 
spoke proverbs: 

“ Faint heart ne’er won fair lady. He who makes several 
cows grow where none grew before is no fool. He laughs 
best who laughs last. Pride goeth before a fall. A haughty 
spirit may take a tumble when she hears that laugh. A quit¬ 
ter quits because he has a yellow streak.” 

“ Meaning, in plain U. S., you want me to forget Pilar and 
try to get my rope on Gerda — roll her pride in the dust and 
bust her haughty spirit. Mighty brotherly of you! ” 

“ It is between you and Welsh. I misjudged you, boy. 
But I never misjudged the son of old One-Gun. I’d rather 
see her in her grave than married to him! ” 

The sudden fierce heat of this brought a glow into Tyrrel’s 
wary eyes. 

“ On second thought, Mr. Keith, I mighty possibly be in¬ 
duced to commingle business and pleasure. How about those 
Her’ford feeders ? ” 

“ They are on the market if I can find an honest buyer.” 

“You might make more by feeding them yourself. Hap¬ 
pens I have an agreement with Dad Howbert. But he’ll not 
have enough head to graze all that grass. Suppose we talk 
deal? Your steers, my water. In that grama they’ll lay on 
the marbled beef fast as a hog lays on fat. Figure it out 
and make me an offer.” 

“ I will, if you’ll return to the Kay Kay with me.” 

“Will I? Won’t I! It’s only a little sooner than I ex¬ 
pected to take another loop on the long, long trail. Ante is 
waiting at Socorro. We might take him in the tonneau.” 

Tyrrel’s voice dropped into murmured cadence: 

“ Oh, young Lochinvar rode out of the west, with his heart 
going pitti-pat under his vest.” 

“What’s that you’re saying?” asked Keith. 

“Nothing much — only an Irish hymn.” 



CHAPTER XXIX 


THE HUSTLER 


HOUGH dinner had been held back an hour by Gerda, 



she and Pilar reached their dessert before Welsh re¬ 


turned from Socorro. His manner was grave but pleasant. 

While he was telling about the plans of Keith, Pilar broke 
in to ask if he had seen or heard anything of Tyrrel. 

“Didn’t see anything of him,” he replied. “ Heard he had 
pulled out. No. Cut out the soup, Janet. Make it a 
double portion of ham and eggs. I had no time to waste 
listening to jokers. Bought Gerda’s things and stepped on 
the gas. You can guess why, Gerda. I’ll have little enough 
time now to be near you. Don is working like a beaver to 
shove me out and shut the door between us.” 

Gerda was not in the mood to respond. 

“My packages — what have you done with them, Janet?” 

«I thought you’d want them sent up to your room,” put 
in Welsh. 

“ That was thoughtful of you, Mat.” 

He rose to real gallantry. 

“ You’re all I have to think about — or want to.” 

There was only a hint of mockery in her bow as she asked 
to be excused. He watched her out with a hungry smile, 
and at once shifted look and smile to the door into the kitchen 
passage. When the double portion of ham and eggs arrived, 
his mouth carried out the promise of that look. 

Pilar shuddered as she watched him, between nibbles at her 
cake. 

“Once upon a time,” she murmured under her breath, 
“ there was a giant ogre, and he gobbled little pigs and big 

243 



244 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


pigs, little girls and big girls. But a brave muchacho — a 
very brave youth indeed — came riding by, and he said to her, 
‘Little princess, why do you weep?’ But the queen-girl, 

who was the ogre’s senora- to-be-” 

The queen-girl came flying into the room, cheeks aflame, 
eyes flashing with rage. She waved a torn and crinkled half 
sheet of newspaper at Welsh. 

ct You did this! It’s your work! ” 

He looked up, the image of astonishment and dismay. 

“ What! You don’t mean to say I went and bought the 
wrong stuff? ” 

(i No, no! This — this damnable article! ” 

With a grave show of sympathy and concern, he took the 
torn sheet and smoothed it out on the cloth beside his plate. 
His pretense of a frowning, puzzled examination of the dif¬ 
ferent headlines ended in a start of interest and a quick stoop 
forward to read. 

Gerda stood over him, hands clenched, bosom heaving, 
teeth set hard in the effort to restrain her fury. She was 
watching his look of surprise flash into mirth. He flung 
back his head. Open gaped his mouth. Out bellowed a roar 
of laughter. But almost instantly he clapped his hand over 
his mouth. 

“ ’Scuse me, Gerda. The way the thing started off, I 
thought he had put one over on us — that he’d really made 
some kind of a find. But when I came to this about Baron 
Munchausen — d’you blame me for exploding? ” 

“ Read on down,” ordered Gerda — fi< there where the tear- 
off begins — that allusion to the ladies of the Kay Kay. 
How could the burro who wrote this drivel have known of his 
coming here if you did not blab?” 

Welsh sprang up, scowling. 

“ The dirty dog! I warned Don he might talk about Pilar. 
But you — think of him bringing you into this! Lord, 




The Rustler 


24 5 


Gerda, how they’ll ride you! If only there was some way to 
head ’em off — some way to prove you’re not interested in 
him. Of course it would choke ’em off if you’d care to — to 
make me the luckiest man in the world! But you can’t do 
that very well, even if you want to. Don would refuse his 
consent.” 

The tortured girl went upstairs to her rooms, in a fever- 
chill of humiliation and anger. Welsh smiled and attacked 
his ham again with redoubled relish. 

The wondering eyes of Pilar saw the paper flutter to the 
floor. She came timidly around the table and picked up the 
torn sheet. As she read, her gasps of indignation won a 
chuckle from Welsh. 

“ What a shame! ” she cried. Her voice sank to a whisper. 
“ But maybe the ugly ogre will go off with his queen-girl, and 
leave the little princess to her querido -” 

Welsh made no attempt to follow up his move. Best to 
let Gerda chew on the bitter mouthful. He went out to the 
horse corral to rope his best horse and a gentled mare favored 
by Pilar. He put them in the box stalls alongside Lobo, and 
gave each a big feed of oats. 

In the morning he came to breakfast a trifle late, dressed 
for riding. Gerda was in her trig motor costume. There 
were shadows under her eyes, and her cheeks had lost some 
of their rich color. With all his shrewdness, he could make 
nothing of her cool disdainful look. 

She dismissed the maid and looked him over with a critical 
scrutiny. 

66 Shaved, I see. But that’s no rig to wear traveling with 
a woman. We’re going to town.” 

“Not to Socorro, Gerda! They’re all primed to ride any 
Kay Kay-” 

“ It’s the nearest place to get a license.” 

He all but whooped. The effort required to choke down 





246 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


the yell gave him a very real appearance of being overcome 
with emotion. It brought moisture into his eyes and put a 
quaver into his voice. 

“Gerda! You — you can’t mean-” 

“Have you any objections?” 

Welsh’s big face glowed with genuine blissful delight. 
Even his blue eyes softened. 

“You’re a queen, Gerda — my queen!” 

“ Cut out the slush. It makes me sick. Pilar, go and get 
out of that sloppy breakfast coat into something decent for 
town. You can act as witness, if not as bridesmaid. Go on. 
Don’t stand there gawking like a gosling! If you don’t 
hurry, you’ll have to start off without breakfast. 

“Please — one moment,” said Welsh. “Gerda, we can 
ride south to that Mexican mission. The old padre who came 
to see Pilar has left, but I’ve heard there’s a new one in 
charge. It would save you the — the unpleasantness of 
those Socorro funny-fellows.” 

The argument appealed to the girl’s sore spirit. She had 
brooded all night long. The slightest suggestion of ridicule 
was like a dash of salt and vinegar on her rasped pride. Her 
dry hard eyes glinted with relief. 

“Why — that isn’t such a bad idea .... only — 
the license.” 

Here was the ticklish play. The slightest false move, and 
she would dodge the noose. She would jump beyond his 
reach. His voice this time quavered and broke with real 
emotion. To have his rope all but on her, yet to feel the 
sickening doubt that the cast might serve only as a slap in 
her face! 

“ I’ve got something to — to own up, Gerda. It was gaily 
of me. But I was thinking only of you — that you might 
agree to favor .... that is, that this would save 
you from their riding you — in case you wanted-” 





The Rustler 


247 


“Get it out!” 

“Well, then — I got the license-” 

“ Oh, you did? ” The gray-green eyes blazed. “ Sure of 
me as all that, were you?” 

“Wait! hold on!” Welsh’s voice blared with genuine dis¬ 
tress. “ I wasn’t — not at all, Gerda! It was only the 
thought of helping you — to be forehanded for you! I 
didn’t count on it a little bit — and I took mighty good care 
to keep it under cover.” 

“ Indeed?” 

“Yes. Mendozo is not to make the entry in the records 
unless we send word. I figured that Don might get wind of it 
and head you off. Here’s the license. All you have to do is 
burn it up. That will wipe out the whole-” 

Gerda caught the paper from his outreaching hand. 
Without a glance inside its folds, she crumpled it into the 
pocket of her linen motor wrap. 

“Tell Jake to saddle up, while Pilar and I change,” she 
said. 

To reach Welsh, the last word had to follow him through 
the doorway. It was one of those occasions when one shot 
first and asked questions afterwards. The great need was 
to give the girl no time to think. Loss of the daintily served 
meal did not bother him. He had eaten breakfast with the 
men. At the same time he had told Cookie to put up a good 
snack for three. 

He cooled his heels for a long half hour, waiting at the 
gate of the inner patio. Best not to seem in too much of a 
hurry. At last, unable to repress his anxiety over the delay, 
he sent in word that the horses were ready. The girls had 
changed to riding dress and were sipping a second cup of 
coffee. 

At the gate, before drawing on her gauntlets, Gerda 
handed him a worn gold ring. It was the only thing he had 






248 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


forgotten. 

“Be careful. It was my mother’s — ” she glanced past 
his shoulder towards Lobo. Her eyes flashed with her all- 
too-ready anger. 

“ That thing— today! ” 

Welsh stared around. Tyrrel’s splendid gift, the silver- 
mounted saddle, shimmered softly in the morning light. 
Welsh bit off a curse. 

“Uh, Jake! The old — take my horse, Gerda. I’ll catch 
up with you in two shakes.” 

He leaped into the silver saddle. Lobo promptly went up 
into the air. Welsh pulled him down and spurred him out 
through the big archway with harsh mastery. It may have 
been the sight of his strength and skill that decided Gerda. 
Whatever else might be said of him, he was no weakling. She 
signed for Pilar to mount. 

Half a mile south of the casa Welsh overtook them. 
Gerda shifted to her old saddle and curbed Lobo’s prancing 
with a grip as harsh as that of the man she was going to 
marry. When the other horses had warmed up, she quick¬ 
ened the gait to a lope. Many long miles lay between them 
and the little old mission. 

They reached the squalid Mexican village close upon noon. 
The small adobe parish house beside the adobe church ap¬ 
pealed to Gerda no more than the dirty hovels and ragged 
“ greasers.” She insisted upon waiting under the first of the 
cottonwoods that straggled along the bank of the arroyo. 

Welsh rode ahead to the parish house. After he had 
knocked two or three times, the door was opened. He pushed 
in. Pilar had started to open the lunch. Gerda’s nerves 
were on edge. 

“ Let that wait! ” she ordered. “ Greedy little pig! 
Can’t you think of anything else than something to eat ? ” 

“Si, si, senoraf I can go and talk with better-mannered 



The Rustler 


249 


ladies.” 

. “ Stop that! How dare you call me senora? You know 
it’s bad luck to address a —a bride as a married woman be- 
fore the wedding.” 

Pilar s black eyes were wide and round as she hurried away. 
It was like her cousin to get into a temper. But for her to 
be superstitious was most unnatural. 

At the first hovel the girl gave a courteous greeting in 
Spanish to the gross halfbreed woman, who was stirring a 
potful of beans in the open-shed kitchen. The woman re¬ 
sponded no less courteously. Pilar asked a question. The 
woman’s reply surprised her. She repeated the inquiry. 
This time the woman added emphatic gestures to her words. 

The surprise of the girl gave place to a slowly dawning 
smile of mirth. She pressed a coin into the woman’s hand 
and started back towards Gerda. After a few steps she re¬ 
membered that Welsh was still in the parish house. What 
could he be lingering for? 

She hastened past the hovel. The tread of her little boots 
in the soft sand was soundless. The small, high, side-window 
of the parish house gaped without curtain or glass. Through 
it rumbled the deep voice of Welsh. He was speaking loudly, 
in a jargon of mixed Spanish and English. 

Pilar stopped short to listen. Welsh paused. A num- 
bling, hesitating voice answered him in the same jargon. 
Pilar’s smile faded. She stepped lightly away. 

She found Gerda gazing off north along the Chupadera, 
her dry eyes wide with silent anguish. Before that look all 
the long-accumulated resentment of the younger girl was 
overwhelmed by an upsurge of pity. 

“Oh, Gerda — you still love him! Let’s jump on our 
horses and run away from the ugly ogre. He’s planning to 
take advantage of your-” 

“Be still!” cried Gerda. “You silly chattering nut-jay! 




250 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


I’ll take no meddling from you or anyone. Where’s Mat? 
What’s keeping him? Does he think I want to take a 
siesta? ” 

Up bobbed again Pilar’s resentment. She pouted. 

“ You needn’t bite my head off. I’m not your bridegroom’s 
duena. No doubt he’s making arrangements for the wedding. 
There he comes now.” 

Welsh rode back at a dash. He jumped off and broke into 
profuse apologies at Gerda’s first bitter word over the delay. 

u Sorry, mighty sorry! It’s that measly ” He 
glanced sharply towards Pilar —“that 4 No Se’ priest. 
Took a long time to get it into his head what we wanted. 
You see, you’ve got the license. Then he had to ask a big 
string of questions about our religion.” 

“ We’re both Protestants. No need of a dispensation.” 

“ Yes, but when he found that out, he stuck against having 
a church ceremony. Fact is, he balked over doing it at all. 
I had to offer him a big bunch of green — for his church. 
Even then he insists on it being in the house.” 

“What difference does it make? Let’s hurry up and get 
it over with. This place looks and smells like the abomina¬ 
tion of desolation.” 

“ I’m mighty sorry. The house was in a bad mess. We’ll 
have to wait a little while for him to slick it up. We can be 
eating.” 

Gerda turned her shoulder to him and shifted around to 
lean her back against the tree trunk. She pushed away the 
sandwich and fried chicken that he offered her, and gazed 
off again towards the far-distant north end of the Chupadera. 
Though worried, Welsh managed to make away with over half 
of the lunch before a bright-colored serape fluttered from the 
door of the parish house. 

“ All set, Gerda,” he said. “ Let’s go.” 

They rode to the house. A few ragged dirty children 



The JRustler 


251 


started to gather. Welsh held back and promised a dime to 
each one that helped water the horses. 

The small front room into which Gerda led the way was 
disorderly and smelly and dark. The doorway was close 
curtained. A shrine had been set in the little window, shut¬ 
ting out much more light than was given by the single candle 
at its foot. 

Some moments passed before either Gerda or Pilar per¬ 
ceived any more than the dim outlines of the robed figure at 
the rear of the room. Welsh gently drew Gerda’s hand under 
his arm and led her forward. 

“All right. We’re ready. Begin,” he said. 

The priestly figure made the sign of the cross, held up a 
breviary, and began to read in a half-chanting mumble. The 
first prayer brought Pilar to her knees. Gerda wavered and 
ended by sinking down in front of her cousin. Welsh re¬ 
mained standing. 

Owing perhaps to the dim light, the sing-song voice at 
times stumbled and hesitated and halted. Parts of the mar¬ 
riage ceremony were omitted. But they were not necessary 
parts, and the bride and groom were both Protestants. 

At the end, omission also was made of the blessing. But 
neither Welsh nor Gerda asked for one. Welsh was fully 
satisfied. He had put the wedding ring upon Gerda’s finger, 
and they had been pronounced man and wife in broken Eng¬ 
lish. 

Gerda swayed, faint from the close, smelly air of the room 
and more so from the stress of her repressed emotions. Welsh 
hurried her out through the curtained doorway. 

“It was that infernal air in there,” he muttered with 
genuine concern. “ Steady her, Pilar. Help her mount.” 

“How about the register and the signing of witnesses?” 
asked Pilar. 

“ That’s so. Come in and sign, soon as you help her into 



252 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


the saddle. I’ll be seeing he gets the entry right. Our other 
witness is his housekeeper, he said — his sister. She was 
behind that screen. Dress too dirty for company, I guess.” 

Gerda raised her white face and drew in a deep, shudder¬ 
ing breath. 

“ Be quick. I want to get away from here.” 

Pilar followed Welsh back into the room and witnessed the 
entry written at the top of the newly turned page of the old 
parish register. At the curt order of Welsh, a slatternly 
woman moved forward out of the darkest corner and began 
to scrawl under Pilar’s name. 

Outside they found Gerda mounted, impatient to start. If 
Welsh had any intention of saluting his bride, he was dis¬ 
appointed. She gave Lobo the spur. 



CHAPTER XXX 


“ GO GET HIM ” 

A CAR hired by Keith had brought him and Tyrrel to 
Socorro early enough for them to reach the Kay Kay 
on horseback by mid-afternoon. As a matter of principle, 
Tyrrel put Ante in a box stall, along with a big feed of oats. 

“Always take what you have coming to you when it comes,” 
he said. 

Old Jake told them that Welsh and the girls had ridden 
off south to look at the lower water-holes. Keith was almost 
as disappointed as Tyrrel. But they could do little else than 
wait. To close any important Kay Kay deal required the 
consent of at least two of the partners. 

While his host figured out the terms of an offer Tyrrel 
lay in the shade of the tree beside the fountain, eating peaches 
and day-dreaming of his Glory Girl. They would spend the 
evening, like that other one, over there with the American 
Beauties. 

Sunset was near before he heard the voice of his Glory 
Girl at the gate. It struck a rather high and by no means 
agreeable note. Clearly she was not in the best of humors. 
But he sprang up, eager for the meeting that should clear 
him of his foolship and open wide again the gateway of her 
heart. 

The three came around the bend in the path. Pilar, with 
a half-frightened half-exultant look, was listening to the 
sharp dispute between Gerda and Welsh. She was first to 
see the visitor. 

“Oh, Dick! How could you dare? Santisima! I know. 
You’ve brought me my diamond! ” 

253 


254 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Gerda’s heat against Welsh chilled as suddenly as if she 
had been plunged into ice water. She stopped short and 
stared at the visitor as if unable to believe her eyes. He saw 
her expression change swiftly from incredulity and amaze¬ 
ment, through wonderment, into dismay — almost terror. A 
moment of that; then came the inevitable flare of temper, 
fronted by hauteur. 

“Donnie, you will invite this — person — to get out and 
stay out.” 

Her brother, pencil and notebook still in hand, stepped 
half in front of Tyrrel’s shoulder. 

“Kindly control yourself, Gerda. He is here to-” 

“To rope the golden fleece you sheared from the Chavez 
sheep — rustle it, along with your little ewe lamb. Let him 
take her at once and clear out.” 

Tyrrel moved forward, opening the pink velvet jeweler’s 
case. 

“Now, now, Glory Girl,” he appealed, “don’t go off at 
half-cock, please. I haven’t brought her what you think. 
Look. Isn’t it just the thing for her — a dewdrop in a 
pansy! ” 

“Why, Dick,” exclaimed Pilar. “It’s not a ring. But 
how lovely! How perfectly exquisite! You didce, dulce 
hombre! ” 

“Glad you like it, little girl. I picked it out because it 
matches its present owner. You’ll notice the pansy is heart- 
shaped. But that is a dewdrop on it — not a tear.” 

“ Keep your slush for private consumption,” scoffed Gerda. 
“ Donnie, if you don’t run him off the Kay Kay at once, Mat 
will.” 

“ That remains to be seen.” 

“You call for a show-down, do you?” put in Welsh. 
“Here’s my hand. I hold a royal flush. Do you savvy?” 

He put a possessory arm around Gerda’s shoulders. She 




"Go Get Him” 


255 


quivered, almost shuddered, yet made no move to shrug off 
his thick arm or wrench herself out of its grasp. She looked 
Tyrrel with a smile of exultant disdain on her lips and 
hate in her eyes. 

The look served only as goad to his ardor. He took an¬ 
other step forward. 

46 You’ve made a lit tie mistake, Mr. Welsh,” he said. “This 

isn’t poker we’re playing. It’s euchre. Hearts are trumps, 
and I’m the Jack of Diamonds, Jack of Hearts, and the 
Joker, all in one. First trick, I’ll take the Queen of Hearts 
□ut of your hand. Glory Girl, just let me tell you about 
that-” 

“Aztec treasure!” gibed Welsh. “ You’re flapping in the 
vind, Slick Dick. This game’s draw poker. I’ve drawn this 
:ard.” He pulled the gauntlet from Gerda’s left hand. 

6 Look for yourself. You’re not the Joker. You’re the 
joke. Tell him, Mrs. Welsh.” 

The last taunting word reached Tyrrel as if from a great 
listance. His widening eyes were fixed upon Gerda’s wedding 
inger. The disdain of her look did not lessen. Yet her hand 
ifted and pressed hard against her bosom. 

The tip of Tyrrel’s tongue ran along his dry lips. 

“ Glory Girl .... why don’t you speak out. Tell 
ne — it’s not true.” 

That torturing agony behind her anger goaded her into 
| lerision. 

“Mrs. Welsh answers, yes. She laughed at the joke, and 
narried a man.” 

Tyrrel’s lips twisted in a ghastly attempt at a smile. 

6i I caw. The joke is on me. I held both hearts and dia- 
londs. Should have chucked the diamonds into the discard, 
nstead, I played them first — and lost out on hearts.” 

Keith put a friendly hand on the bowed shoulder of the 
3ser. 





256 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“Don’t blame yourself too much, boy. I know her far 
better than you do. Yet I would not have thought she could 
be so rash as this.” 

“That will do for you, Donnie,” said his sister. “What 
you now have to bear in mind is that Mr. and Mrs. Welsh, 
between them, own a two-thirds interest in the Kay Kay. 
Whether we put you out, or go out ourselves, or all stay in, 
is a matter to be settled later. Right now, though, the 
majority vote is that this person be run off our range and 
kept off.” 

“ One moment, if you please. This is a matter of business. 
Mr. Tyrrel stands ready to furnish us, on fair terms, the 
best of grass and water for our feeders.” 

“ He does, does he? ” said Welsh. “ I’ll tell the world, that 
beats the Aztec hoax all hollow.” 

“ It certainly does,” agreed Keith. “ He did precisely what 
you feared he might do. You may remember, when we left 
him at Tabru, you said we would look as wise as boiled owls 
if he had played us for a bunch of boobs. How do you feel 
you are going to look six seconds from now?” 

“ Maybe I’ve got an ace up my sleeve my ownself. Shoot! ” 

“The treasure he was looking for was the killed water of 
Tabru. He found it.” 

The blow was a jolt to the solar plexus. Welsh gaped 
like a fish out of water. His brick-red face took on a greenish 
hue. In an attempt to cover up, he bellowed: 

“Like hell he did!” 

“No, the hell of it has come since,” murmured Tyrrel, his 
rueful eyes still fixed upon Gerda’s flushed face. 

She perceived the truth, yet struggled against belief. 

“Killed water? One of those muddy little alkali seeps!” 

“ Pure water,” said her brother, less sick than Tyrrel over 
the mess she had made of it all, but far more angry behind 
his mask of quiet irony. “Pure, clear, limestone water — 



Go Get Him ” 


257 


running water — enough for three or four thousand head.” 

The flush died out of Gerda’s face. She went so white 
that her brother feared she was — for the first time in her 
life — about to swoon. Welsh felt her rigid body go lax, 
and tightened his clasp to support her. He drew her close 
and sought to kiss her colorless lips. 

Her sickened eyes blazed. She wrenched herself free from 
him. But it was more as if he were an inanimate obstacle 
than an enemy. All her anger centered upon Tyrrel. 

“You! To let me believe .... act that lie to me! 
Stand and let them jeer at you — augh!” She clutched at 
her throat. “ Fool! fool! fool! If only you had told me! ” 

Tyrrel put his hand half way out and drew it back to 
hide its shaking. 

“You had me roped, Gerda. That wasn’t enough. You 
were set on hog-tying me. I had to show you. I’d have 
told you before hand — would have been glad to have you 
with me on the venture — only you refused to go halvers 
on the bossing. You didn’t want me to have enough of a 
stake to be independent.” 

“Independent! Didn’t I tell you, way back there, other 
side the Lazy S Bar, no real man need be afraid of a girl’s 
money? ” 

“Not your money, Gerda, but your methods. You wanted 
to make it a handout. You wanted to ride me. Because of 
that, I could not tell you about my wildcat until I had it 
treed.” 

“But afterwards, when you came from there-” 

“All primed to let you into the secret! Who was it, right 
here beside the fountain, who headed me off from a private 
interview — who made Pilar stay, and sent for my dear friend 
Welsh? Who was it said there was no reason for her to see 
me alone unless I had come to beg for a job — meaning, to 
crawl to her ? ” 





258 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


All the anger had died out of the girl’s eyes, leaving only 
the gray of despair. 

“You — you could have told before Pilar!” 

“I could — and would. I could have told before Welsh — 
could have and would have, and counted upon a white man 
named Keith to get me first to the land office. I w T ould 
have done it — if you had given me a shadow of a shade of 
faith and fair play.” 

It was the truth. She could not deny it. Yet pride would 
not let her admit anything. She shifted her attack. 

“You allowed them to ridicule you, not only then, but 
before — up there at Tabru!” 

“ The queen’s jester. The queen also laughed at him, not 
with him. That’s the nub of it. I was told to put on a 
show entitled, ‘How to make ’em laugh.’ I did. It was a 
whooping success. Now I’m staging the follow-up, 6 How r to 
make ’em cry.’ It’s a moist theme — that spring. I’m not 
laughing over it very much my ownself.” 

Tyrrel’s eyes were anything else than exultant. Yet tem¬ 
per still lashed the girl’s pride with the stinging nettles of 
chagrin. 

“ Weep if you want to,” she scoffed. “ The Kay Kay stays 
dry.” 

“ With even its milk of human kindness soured! ” 

“That’ll do from you,” blustered Welsh. “I’ll have no 
also-ran insult my wife. No wonder you’re sore, with her 
still laughing at the way she spilled you.” 

“ How about yourself ? ” inquired Tyrrel. “ Strikes me the 
jester proved to be the joker, and somebody was euchred. 
That water has been filed on — cinched — hog-tied. Do I see 
a Missouri jackass around here who looks wise as a boiled 
owl ? ” 

All the advantage of the bitter exchange rested with the 
Coloradoan. He stood calm and smiling, his hands w^ell away 



"Go Get Him” 


259 


from the old Chavez holster. Welsh’s eyes were bloodshot. 
His face was purple. 

Gerda looked from him to Tyrrel and back at him. The 
pupils of her eyes dilated. She drew Pilar to one side. 

“Mat,” she asked, “didn’t you hear what he said? Or 
havfe I married a fourflusher with a yellow streak?” 

The quiet scorn of the question stung Welsh far more than 
if she had slashed him in the face with her quirt. But before 
he could make a move to draw, Keith sprang before him. 

“ Don’t let her egg you into suicide, Mat. What if she is 
playing to rid herself of her new husband?” 

The shrewdly put question checked the furious man as no 
reasonable appeal or argument could have done. His jaw 
fell. He turned his out-thrust face sideways to peer at Gerda. 
Her lip curled. She spoke, not to him, but to her brother. 

“ Stand aside, Donnie. Let’s see about that streak.” 

“Wait, Mat! listen!” exclaimed Keith. 

He stepped forward to put his hand on Welsh’s shoulder 
and pull as if to draw him down for a whisper. Gerda 
cried a warning: 

“Watch out, Mat! He’s getting your gun!” 

Welsh clutched for his pistol a fraction of a second too 
late. Keith’s fingers had already grasped the hilt. As he 
sprang clear he flung the big automatic half way across the 
garden. 

“We’ve had enough of this sort of thing,” he snapped. 
“What’s done is done. Throw it over your shoulder, Mat. 
You too, Dick. No use asking Gerda. But we’re men — 
business men. We’ll close a deal for grazing our feeders at 
Tabru. Then, Dick, you will oblige me by leaving. This silly 
melodrama is not good for Pilar.” 

“ Oh, no, no, Don Senor! ” cried the girl. “Poder de Dios! 
It’s all so delightfully exciting! Look at Dick. He hasn’t 
turned a hair!” 



260 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Gerda took a step towards Tyrrel. 

“No use wasting your time here,” she said. “There will 
be no feeder deal — and my husband is now unarmed.” 

She started towards the veranda. Welsh sought to right 
himself with her. 

“You heard my wife, buster boy. Vamos .” 

“Not until he has had supper,” said Keith. “I brought 
him here as my guest.” 

“All right,” agreed Welsh. “As a favor to my wife’s 
brother, he can stay to eat. After that, if he doesn’t hit out, 
I’ll shoot him on sight.” 

“ I’ll borrow a lantern,” offered Tyrrel. “ It may be dark 
when I get through supper.” 

He took off his hat and kissed Pilar on the forehead, as 
at their last parting. 

“Good-bye, little girl. Maybe I’ll turn up again some 
day. Who knows? Be good to yourself.” 

She murmured a smiling “Vaya usted -” 

Unable to resist the impulse, Gerda glanced over her 
shoulder. She saw Tyrrel sauntering towards the gate, 
around the bend of the path, with her brother at his elbow. 
Welsh started to face towards her. She walked into the house 
rather hurriedly. 

Pilar turned and perceived Welsh following her cousin. 
His face had that hungry ogre look. She gave a little cry 
and darted off aslant the garden. The trees and shrubbery 
masked her flight up the outside stairs in the far corner of the 
veranda. She ran tiptoe along the upper corridor and slipped 
in at the door of her boudoir, a moment before Gerda came 
up the main stairway. 

Round-eyed and breathless, the young girl knelt down to 
peep and listen at her keyhole. Gerda appeared in front of 
the ponderous old iron-bound, solid-oak door of her boudoir, 
almost directly across the corridor. From the top of the 





Go Get Him ” 


261 


main stairway came the clump of Welsh’s heavy, hasty tread. 

In a panicky hurry, Gerda pulled shut her door and locked 
it on the outside. But her look became cold and disdainful 
as she faced Welsh. Behind the keyhole the little eaves¬ 
dropper pressed her hand to her lips to muffle a gasp of 
relief. She peeped again just in time to see Welsh come at 
Gerda with a rush. He flung out his arms to grasp his 
“ queen-girl.” 

“ Don’t try to dodge! ” he cried. “ I’ve got you now! ” 

She did not dodge. She stood with her back against the 
wall and faced him with a look that stopped him at the very 
height of his passion. 

“No,” she denied, “you haven’t. You never will have me 
unless you can prove yourself the better man. I did not 
marry a fourflusher.” 

Welsh almost bellowed: 

“You’re my wife. You can’t deny it.” 

“ In law! Stand away. If you lay a finger on me, I’ll 
kill you just as sure as I am the daughter of Apache 
Keith. I took you for a man. That boy has made you look 
what you called yourself. He has thrashed you. He has 
fooled you. I’ll say nothing about that snake Slim. That 
may not have been your doing. But now-” 

“ I’d have settled matters out of hand if Don hadn’t butted 
in. Couldn’t chance hurting the brother of my wife. All 
the same — you heard me — I gave him notice. I’m not 
bluffing. He’s not going to get away this time.” 

“ Your father would have acted first, and done his bragging 
afterwards.” 

“ Same here,” said Welsh, his mouth like a gash across his 
outthrust jaw. “It’s going to be one, two, three — go get 
my pistol, go get my man, come get you.” 

He swung about and thumped off along the corridor. 
Gerda stood motionless, her eyes dilating with horror. It 




262 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


was her look of utter anguish and despair that terrified the 
little eavesdropper into action. Her windows opened on the 
upper veranda. She tiptoed to the nearest one, slipped out, 
and scurried for the veranda stairway. 

She was down in the garden and almost across to the gate 
before the deadly deliberation of Welsh brought him to the 
foot of the inside stairway. But the terrified girl pictured 
him rushing for his pistol as he had rushed at Gerda. She 
flew across the outer court to the bunk room. Butch and 
Redeye, being pets of Welsh, had come in ahead of the other 
men. They leered at the wild-eyed girl. 

Neither Keith nor Tyrrel was in the bunk room. She 
darted through the mess hall to the kitchen. Cookie, intent 
upon his battery of steaming pots and sizzling pans, at last 
guessed at the meaning of her incoherent gasps, and grunted 
a word: “Stable.” 

The run from the casa gate to the stable was long enough 
to take the edge off her terror. Every fearful backward 
glance showed more distance between her and the gateway, 
with no sign of Welsh charging in pursuit. 

Tyrrel was talking quietly with Keith while he stowed a 
package of biscuits and bacon in his saddlebags and fastened 
on a filled canteen. The inrush of Pilar sent his hand darting 
to his hip. She cried out her message, breathless but co¬ 
herent : 

“Gerda jeered him! He’s coming — to get you! One, 
two, three — first his pistol, then you, then-” 

Tyrrel nodded to her guardian and spoke without any 
change from the quiet tone of their conversation : 

“ I’ll go out in front. Take her back through and around 
the horse corral.” 

“No, no, not in front, Dick! They were there in the bunk 
room — Butch and Redeye! He’ll bring them along! ” 

“ Saddle up! ” urged Keith. 




"Go Get Him” 


263 


“ For only three of them? ” asked Tyrrel. “ I’ll be justified 
in standing behind the door post. He’s coming before time, 
and he’s not coming alone.” 

“As a favor to us, boy! There’s no discredit running from 
such odds,” Keith insisted. “ Think of Gerda! Think what 
it will mean to her, all her life, if, as a result of her egging 
him on, either one of you-” 

The saddle swung up in Tyrrel’s hands. As Keith ran for 
the front door, facing the casa, he called out a command for 
Pilar to hurry away through the rear entrance. She picked 
up Tyrrel’s bridle and held it ready for him. 

“They’re leaving the gate,” warned Keith. “Nina, run 
along — quick! ” 

She gave him a gaily mocking wave of her little hand and 
reached out the bridle to Tyrrel. 

“They’re starting to run!” called Keith. “Nina! nina! 
be sensible! Go quick!” 

Without waiting to put on the bridle, Tyrrel trotted Ante 
back through the big stable. Pilar darted ahead to open the 
rear door. As Ante lunged through the opening, Tyrrel 
paused beside the girl. Keith saw them clearly, silhouetted 
against the rectangle of glaring sunshine. He saw Pilar’s 
arms go up to Tyrrel’s neck. 

The sound of rapidly thudding feet told him the attackers 
were close. He stepped backwards from the front door, 
turned, and quietly faced the charging men. All three had 
their guns drawn. 

“ Where’s — Tyrrel ? ” panted Welsh. 

“ See here, Mat — you gave him until after-” 

The attempt at delay proved futile. Welsh jerked his 
thumb at his gunmen. 

“ Round to left, Red. To right, Butch.” 

“Watch out for Pilar!” cautioned Keith. “She’s-” 

A clatter of hoofs sent all running to the left corner of 






264 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


the stable. Ante, still bridleless, was sprinting off at top 
speed. Welsh and Butch and Redeye blazed away as fast 
as they could fire. But the distance already was too great 
for accurate shooting with pistols. 

Tyrrel waved his loose bridle overhead. Welsh cursed. He 
took the gay gesture for mockery. In reality it was only a 
response to Pilar’s fluttering handkerchief. 



CHAPTER XXXI 


SIDED 

N INETY miles in a night has been made a very few times 
by expert riders on very good horses. But beyond the 
east line of the Kay Kay range loomed the immense hulking 
barrier of the Chupadera. Without light to see his way, 
even Ante, with his wolfhound hindquarters and massive, deep- 
chested forebody, must have gone slow over the great mesa. 

But nightfall found the quarter-moon shining high and 
bright. It guided horse and rider up the course of the day¬ 
light-chosen ascent that they had made on their first crossing. 
Ante breasted the slopes at a pace that would have broken 
the hearts of most horses. At the hardest climbs Tyrrel 
jumped off and scrambled ahead. Once up the western face 
of the mesa, it was mostly lope and jog-trot all the way 
across to the pitch of the eastern descent. 

Down below, on the lower s leveler ground of the prairie, 
Ante’s big hoofs drummed in a steady, mile-devouring gallop. 
By this time even most extra good horses would have given 
out. The big fleabitten gray, unbroken by the tremendous 
exertion of the mesa crossing, ran on and on with the tire¬ 
lessness of a gray wolf. 

The moon went down. Ante loped along in the starlight, 
hour after hour. They crossed the railroad, struck between 
the peaks, and slanted for the Lazy S Bar. 

As the gray in the east blushed into rose, Ante loped 
the last few yards through the cottonwoods and came to a 
halt before the door of the old ranch house. Tyrrel slipped 
down, swayed like a sailor just landed, and started to loosen 
the strap of his cinch. Ante’s head sagged low. For once 

265 


266 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


in his life he was as weary as he looked. 

Jacarilla Howbert craned his scrawny neck out of the door¬ 
way and shot a streak of tobacco juice aslant the log wall. 
He cast a seemingly incurious glance at the stiff-backed 
rider and sweat-lathered, spraddle-legged horse. 

44 Howdy, son,” he casually greeted. 44 You’re a mite earlier 
this time. Step in and feed your face.” 

Tyrrel stripped off the saddle and bridle. With a deep 
heave of satisfaction, Ante let himself down. He rolled 
once, he rolled twice, he rolled the third time. 

44 Fifty dollars a roll,” grunted the cowman. 46 Purty fair 
hoss. Might be worth mebbe a hun’erd and fifty.” 

Ante struggled to his feet and shook himself. 

44 Make it ten times that, and you wouldn’t get him,” said 
Tyrrel. 44 We left the Kay Kay ranch house at sundown.” 

Howbert sang out over his shoulder in a nasal tone: 

“Hey — one you no-’count, good-for-nothing longhorns, 
pile out here and give this hoss a rub-down. Make it two of 
you, and don’t be all day, if you know what’s good for your 
health.” 

A rush of men crowded past him through the doorway. 
They nodded greeting to Tyrrel and stared curiously at Ante. 

44 You got something to look at,” said their boss. 44 Them 
kind don’t come in flocks. That’s a hoss as is a hoss. Get 
a move on you. They kicked off the Kay Kay dust at sun¬ 
down, says the kid.” 

Not two but half a dozen men jumped to obey. They were 
more than willing to serve that chuckle-headed king of long¬ 
distance racers. 

Tyrrel went in with his host, walking stiffly and a bit un¬ 
steadily. He waited only until he had tossed down his first 
cup of coffee. 

44 Your tin can ready to rattle?*” 

44 Want I should take you to town?” 



Sided 


267 


“ No, railroad. I’ll need a man to side me — a good shot 
with plenty of sand.” 

“As how? ” 

“ Struck that killed water I went to look for. It’s good 
for three-four thousand head.” 

“By ginger! Water at Tabru .... and that there 
grass! Shouldn’t wonder, son, if you mightn’t size up as a 
go-getter. You sure went and done it.” 

“We’re apt to be done. I filed on the water. But no need 
to tell you, dad, that with a Welsh bucking our game, pos¬ 
session is nine points of the law.” 

“ A-huh — nine points she is. Used to be all ten. How 
’bout me taking a jog up that way with a couple boys? ” 

“No. I’ve thought it all out. I’d like you to get your 
feeders rounded up. I have a truck and pump waiting at 
the railroad north of Tabru. Soon as I get the pump 
working I’ll send in your man with a wire to start the drive.” 

“Huh” grunted the cowman. “Want all the fun your 
ownself, do you? Well, I reckon I can still poke a rifle muzzle 
some’ers towards where it’ll do the most good. I’m a-going 
to side you, son.” 

He went to reach down two high-power rifles and their 
cartridge belts from the old longhorn rack over the narrow 
slide window. 

“’Twon’t hurt none to have ’em for comp’ny, I reckon.” 

Half an hour later he and Tyrrel were rattling along in 
his disreputable flivver in the opposite direction from Tabru. 
The longest way around sometimes is the shortest way home. 
He drove seemingly with a bootleg joyrider’s zest for speed 
and risks. But Tyrrel soon noticed that he did not hit any 
bumps quite hard enough to shake the flivver to pieces. 

A good twenty miles out, with his eyes glued to the road 
ahead, the old man spoke — for the first time. 

“ Left the Kay Kay sort of in a hurry, I take it.” 



268 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“Well, I picked three or four chunks of lead out of the 
air as we caught up with ’em.” 

“Invited to leave, heh? ’Twasn’t by Don Keith. He’s 
white.” 

“Welsh and his two other side-kicks — Butch and Redeye. 
How’s my friend Slim?” 

Howbert spat sideways, tongued his quid, straddled the 
whizzing car past a bad rut, and grunted his answer. 

“ Seems like them pills outen your old pill-box is mighty 
strong med’cine. He didn’t talk none. Soon’s I’d let him 
sit in his saddle, he went and hired to the Broken Box O. 
All the bootleg run outen the Box when Stimpson was made 
foreman. He’s got a purty gal. Heard tell Slim knowed 
her once before.” 

Tyrrel said nothing. He was thinking of the girl that he 
had known. The old man took in the drawn lines of his 
profile with a flickering side glance. He observed to the 
radiator: 

“Women sure are pleasur’ble critters — when they ain’t 
hell.” 

Ten miles or so farther on he asked casually : 

“Which one of ’em was it, son?” 

Tyrrel’s slowly turning gaze met a look such as no man 
had ever before seen in the eyes of Jacarilla Howbert. A 
moment, and the old man’s eyes were staring savagely ahead 
at the road, under down-bushed brows and a scowl. But 
Tyrrel had seen that look. Its like had been in the eyes of 
Miss Flora Macintyre at their last parting. To remain 
tongue-tied any longer was impossible. 

“It’s Gerda, dad. Welsh peddled the joke of my looking 
for the Aztec treasure. She couldn’t stand the gaff of their 
laughing at me. I found what I was looking for, but I lost 
her. She married him before I could tell her.” 

“Aw .... shucks! ” grunted the cowman. He 



Sided 


269 


mouthed his quid meditatively. 44 Shucks. She oughtn’t to’ve 
gone and done it. I knowed Mat’s mammy ’fore One-Gun got 
her — purty as God makes ’em. We had it laid out to get 
hitched. I went off to the round-up. ’Long comes One-Gun 
with a bunch, all primed for a necktie party. Claims her pa’d 
been rustling his cows. She saved her pa only way she 
could. When I come back she was Mrs. Welsh.” 

After several minutes Tyrrel made his reply. 

44 She did it to save her father. Gerda did it to save her 
face.” 

44 Mebbe — mebbe. I knowed a hound dawg once bit a man 
’cause he laughed at him. Thoroughbred fillies is apt to be 
high strung. Talking ’bout fillies, I’ve knowed more’n one 
good’un with two brands.” 

Though the 44 two ” was not emphasized, it struck Tyrrel 
like a forty-five bullet. The suggestion stunned him — 
knocked him speechless. The old man went on with his words 
of good cheer. 

44 Some of ’em, they swap owners. Others, their owners up 
and die — or mebbe some’un helps ’em to.” 

Tyrrel roused with a start. 

44 No. If he leaves me alone. She did it of her own free 
willfulness. He might have led her into it, but she could not 
have been driven to do it by him or anyone.” 

“Ain’t soured on her, have you, son?” 

“Dad, I’d shoot myself before I went on to my knees to 
her. I’d shoot him if she came on her knees to me. She’d 
shoot herself before she’d do that. Nothing left except for 
me to buckle down and work my head off for Howbert and 
Tyrrel.” 

Jacarilla placidly chewed his quid and 44 stepped on the 
gas.” 

They rattled into the nearest cow townlet on the railroad 
with a margin of five minutes. While Tyrrel bought the 



270 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


tickets, Howbert arranged for the delivery of his future tele¬ 
gram and hired three good men to go back to the Lazy S Bar 
with the car. He always kept on more riders than economy 
called for. It was a habit acquired in the days when raids 
rode with or followed rustling. Before leaving the ranch he 
had picked the rather large force that was to make the drive 
with the feeders. 

Tyrrel spent all the hours of the trip around to his Tabru 
station luxuriating in the lower berth of a Pullman stateroom. 
Howbert 44 fed his face” in the diner. But he bribed his 
waiter to take in a 44 bang-up dude dinner” to the “poor, 
ailing, busted-backed boy ” in the stateroom. 

The 44 busted-backed boy ” hopped off the train at his home 
station with a whoop. The moon showed the supplies bought 
by him at Albuquerque, heaped at the end of the section 
house. 

44 Good thing for that cement, dad, it hasn’t rained.” 

Howbert grunted and helped him load the truck with gaso¬ 
lene tanks, pieces of pump, and cases of food. 

44 One box of chuck busted into, but none of the pump 
missing,” Tyrrel checked off the supplies. 44 Good enough. 
A five-spot to the section boss to stow that cement under 
cover, and we’re off.” 

Moon, headlights, luck, and Tyrrel’s experience on his 
previous trips, brought them safe through to the dead pueblo 
with their big load, soon after sunrise. 

During the last mile Howbert nursed one of the high-power 
rifles and held the other between him and Tyrrel. But no 
bullet came whining from ruins or draw to greet them. They 
chugged and bumped across the 44 town lots,” aslant the 
groups of 44 well-ventilated apartments,” and dipped into the 
draw, brakes screeching. 

The shrewd eyes of Howbert took in the shaft and squinted 
along the draw. 



Sided 


271 


“ Looks sort of like a likely hole down thataway.” 

“Another one just below,” replied Tyrrel. “ We can double 
the capacity of each with a little cement and rock in the 
gaps of the cross ledges. Both are on my homestead quarter- 
section.” 

“Quarter? Desert act gives you right to file on three- 
twenty.” 

“No bets missed, dad. I covered the wet with my home¬ 
stead, Other quarters are strung out down the draw. They 
may beat us in the courts over the lower quarters by claiming 
they’re irrigable and therefore not desert entry land. But 
a homestead is a homestead. We’ll sit pretty and let ’em bore 
down to China. What we don’t want to pump, can waste off 
through that crack in the limestone. It must go deep. Come 
down and see how it runs off aslant the draw.” 

They found the well exactly as Tyrrel had left it. How- 
bert drank deep of the cool, pure water, smacked his lips, and 
climbed first up out of the shaft. Tyrrel had brought pipe 
joints and sections to suit the situation. By noon they had 
ithe pump all set up. Howbert fetched gasolene and started 
the motor. It began to chug. 

A few strokes — then a crystal stream gushed from the 
pump spout. With pick and shovel Tyrrel led the rill down 
the draw. A little shovel work curved it around the lower 
shaft. 

Within two hours there was quite a pool in the first hollow. 
He did nothing to dam the gaps in the cross ledges. As 
well for the first water to run on down and puddle the bottom 
of the second hollow as well. After some easy dam building, 
they would have a pair of reservoirs large enough for all the 
stock the range Could graze. 

He spent an hour studying the lay of the ground and pac¬ 
ing off distances. A sudden blank silence — the normal husK 
of mid-afternoon at the dead town — roused him from his 






272 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


absorption in hydraulic calculations. The pump had stopped 
chugging. He looked up towards it. 

Howbert, rifle in hand, was beckoning to him. When 
Tyrrel came sprinting past the lower shaft, the cowman held 
out the other rifle. 

“Reckoned it was ’bout time to look for comp’ny. One 
day for Mat to go to town to fix up his contest papers. 
T’other day to jog up over the Chupadera. He could 
reason’ble calc’late on finding you to home alone, or else not 
yet back from the Lazy S Bar if you went round that away. 
That Ante hoss, son, is a hoss. Le’s snuggle up under the 
rim of the draw,” 



CHAPTER XXXII 


BLUFF 

T HE four approaching riders were all men. Three of 
them Tyrrel had last seen behind the muzzles of their 
pistols. The fourth was a stranger. 

“ Dep’ty sheriff, most like,” said Howbert. “ They’re get¬ 
ting up in easy range. Best flag ’em.” 

“Not yet. There’s the flat this side. No cover for them. 
Listen, dad.” 

The cowman listened, objected, and gave in. 

“Uh — have it your own way — seeing as how mebbe he’s 
a dep’ty.” 

Tyrrel laid down his rifle and rose to advance quietly 
towards the riders. He held up his bare hand. 

Welsh checked the impulse of Redeye and Butch to dash 
forward. He wished time to lick his chops over the coming 
feast. The deputy sheriff grinned with almost equal anticipa¬ 
tion of the fun ahead. Only a few months past he had moved 
from Lincoln County — by request. Using the influence of 
the Kay Kay, Welsh had levered him into a deputyship. 

A little beyond fair pistol range from the edge of the draw, 
Tyrrel stopped. The four riders had already spread out. In 
dead silence they walked their horses forward. No less silently 
they closed around the man afoot. They halted and sat 
gloating. Tyrrel rolled a cigarette, sucked at it pensively, 
and blew a smoke wreath into the still air. 

The wreath “got a rise” out of Welsh. He scowled and 
broke his silence. 

“ Think you can fourflush, counting on the law to protect 
you?” 


273 


274 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Tyrrel spared an amused glance for the deputy and his 
prominently displayed badge. The fellow might have been 
Butch’s younger brother — was, in fact, his cousin. But 
he was as yet only a porker, not a full-tushed boar like 
Butch. 

“The majesty of the law — and the Welsh tin star of 
destiny! Why, yes, if you want to know, I am counting on 
the law — at least on nine points of it.” 

“What’s that you say?” 

“ Possession.” 

Welsh laughed. The fellow was only a big boob, after all. 

“I may leave you in possession of a three-by-six plot — 
tucked under a dirt blanket.” 

“Water is just the opposite of bootleg,” remarked Tyrrel. 
“Not where it is plentiful but where it is scarce, it is most 
apt to make strange bedfellows.” 

“Don’t you worry over having to double up with us. 
You’ll have the bed all to your lonesome. Red has you 
covered.” 

“Interesting, if true. I take it, you didn’t come just to 
pass the time of day, Mr. Welsh. What’s the program?” 

“Well, seeing that you may think you have a personal 
part to play in it, I’ll remark that the first number scheduled 
is to beat you up good and plent}^.” 

“Oh, Mr. Welsh! That sounds like assault and battery. 
Surely you’d not do that, with the majesty of the law look¬ 
ing on.” 

“ He won’t look on — he’ll help kick your face.” 

“How kind! By the way, Mr. Justtin Star, pardon my 
curiosity. I know these other gentlemen are acquainted with 
him. But you yourself — have you ever had the pleasure of 
meeting our old-time friend Jacarilla Howbert?” 

The name won a startled look from the deputy. Welsh 
growled at the man: 



Bluff 


275 


“ Don’t let him make a sucker of you, Bud.” 

“ I couldn’t think of doing such a thing, Bud,” protested 
Tyrrel. “ That would be a sort of contempt of court, or at 
least of the majesty of the law, wouldn’t it? And I need all 
my contempt for a bunch of boobs who think I have still to 
cut my eye-teeth. ’Struth, Bud. They think I’ve ambled out 
here into the open like the fatted calf running to lick the 
boots of the prodigal son.” 

Welsh’s eyes went bloodshot. 

“You slick Dick! Whether you’re lying or not-” 

“No, it’s Jacarilla who’s doing the lying. It’s snug cover, 
long pistol range from us, but just right for a high-power 
rifle. Also — easy, Mr. Welsh! Better not draw till you’ve 
taken a look at the scenery. Nice open place we’ve picked 
for our powwow.” 

“You son of-” 

“ Please, kind sir, one moment! Just look around. I 
should guess, from what I’ve heard of his rifle work, old 
Jacarilla could knock over about a dozen jackrabbits before 
they could hop to cover. Call it ten. I don’t like to be 
charged with telling whoppers.” 

More than one of the four were casting furtive glances at 
the immediate landscape. Not a bush or stone or hollow 
within a hundred yards. And beyond that, on three sides, 
they saw plenty of cover to hide the antiquated body and 
modern rifle of Jacarilla Howbert, the Bogie Man of their 
more or less innocent early childhood. From which point of 
the compass would first come the crack of his rifle? 

Of them all, Welsh alone never turned his eyes from Tyrrel. 
He tried a jeer. 

“You can’t pull the wool over our eyes so easy as all that. 
We ain’t sheepherders. You couldn’t have made it to the 
Lazy S Bar and got him up here, in the time.” 

“ Couldn’t I? What if I should lie to you that I had him 




276 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


camped here when I went to file on my nice gurgling spring? 
Maybe I ought to have told that lie. It would spare you the 
strain on your believability. Truth is stranger than fiction. 
I came home to my homestead by way of the Lazy S Bar.” 

Welsh ripped out a withering blasphemy. 

“ Lie or no lie, you’ve walked into my noose. I’ve got you 
hog-tied. We’re going to back-trail. You’ll drift along too, 
if you know what’s good for you.” 

“ Guess I’m the goat,” sighed Tyrrel. “ The old man is 
pretty testy at times — as no doubt you know from past expe¬ 
rience. I’d like to save myself. No use, though, trying. He 
promised to rip loose if I should go off with you. Worst of 
it is, I’ve chipped into the Lazy S Bar with my water. He 
hogs it all if I get into that bed you mentioned. You’ve 
known him longer than I have. Would he be apt to be too 
particular over what happened to me, seeing that he is my 
residuary legatee ? ” 

“Dammit,” growled Welsh. “How do I know it’s not all 
a bluff?” 

“ Easily answered. Left hand out to the side means, please 
send your calling card, Jacarilla. Left hand up — or a 
shot — means, put ’em where they’ll do the most good. Which 
will you have?” 

“ Call him on the card, Mat,” suggested the incredulous 
Butch. 

At Welsh’s slight nod, Tyrrel smiled. 

“All right, gents. Only don’t get nervous if it winds one 
of you. I’m as anxious to live as you are.” 

He thrust his left arm out sideways. On the instant came 
a sharp zip , followed in another instant by the report of a 
rifle. Welsh took off his hat and looked at the crown. There 
was a neat hole through the peak. 

“How about it?” pleasantly inquired Tyrrel. “Is it left 
hand up?” 



Bluff 


277 


66 Guess that was old Hack’s card, all right,” admitted 
Welsh. “All the same, I’ve got a contest filed on your claim. 
I’m here with a deputy sheriff and his posse to take possession 
of my land.” 

“Well, what you waiting for?” 

The only reply that occurred to Welsh was a curse. 

“ Choice language, Mr. Welsh, yet nevertheless profane. 
I came out here to chat, on the chance you are not that 
Missouri jackass after all. You know now the Lazy S Bar 
is in possession here. What d’you say we convert this into 
a peace conference, bury the hatchet, and hereafter each keep 
to his own side of the mesa?” 

Welsh fired his big gun. 

“ Happens, I’m on my side now. First place, I’m con¬ 
testing your homestead entry. Second place, I’ve leased all 
this range not on your filing. Go soak your head! I’m 
giving you notice. Don’t you graze a single head of your 
rustled stock on my range!” 

“I’ll not,” promised Tyrrel. “Pleasant journey!” 

The failure to score rankled Welsh. As he jerked his horse 
around to ride off he shot a poisoned bullet. 

“ She’s all you thought her — that wife of mine.” 

Tyrrel smiled and walked quietly back past the wary-eyed 
Butch and Redeye. But he was not smiling when he came 
to the edge of the draw. At sight of his face Howbert thrust 
out his rifle. 

“ Easy range yet,” he grunted. “ D’you want ’em all, or 
just Big Mat?” 

“Don’t shoot! It was only .... the skunk brought 
her into it.” 

“Well .... well, ain’t that’s where women gen’rally 
is when it’s kissing or killing?” 

With a great effort Tyrrel regained his self-control. 

“I’m going in for a load of cement. I’ll wire Billy Bull 



278 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


to start the drive. Welsh has ordered us to keep off the 
grass. Claims he has leased this range.” 

“Mebbe he has. Only how’s he going to use it without 
water ? ” 

“1 promised not to graze any of my rustled stock on his 
range. Admitting that it is his range, I don’t expect to find 
many rustled steers to have to back-trail when the herd 
comes.” 

“Nary one single solitary head, son. I cut out that source 
of income years ago, after I evened up with One-Gun.” 

The cowman ran his hand caressingly along the barrel of 
his rifle. 

“ It’d be a pity to let all this prime grass keep on going 
to waste. Trot along, son, and send that wire to Billy. We 
ain’t forgetting them nine points, hehf By ginger, it sort of 
makes me feel like old times.” 

The flivver truck was sounder of wind and limb than it 
appeared. Tyrrel chugged back by mid-afternoon of the 
next day with a full load of cement. Howbert had pumped 
enough to prove that the well could not be sucked dry. 

They set to on their dam building, or rather, Tyrrel worked 
and made his over-willing partner keep watch and run errands. 
Practice in the shafts had inured him to heaving heavy slabs 
of limestone. To be forehanded against the coming of the 
herd, they pumped as fast as the gaps in the cross ledges were 
walled up. The first truck load of cement was all used, and 
Tyrrel went for a second. He wired to Albuquerque for an¬ 
other lot and for various other supplies. 

All the time Howbert kept watch of the Chupadera through 
the daytime, and slept with one ear open through the night, 
except the many times he got up to peer around in the star¬ 
light or moonlight. That “gantered him up” almost as 
much as the rush work pulled Tyrrel down. But day after 
day dawned without the expected attack by Welsh. 



Bluff 


279 


Then came the happy, scorching-hot afternoon when the 
dry herd charged bellowing up aslant the ridges in their 
stampede for water. Twelve hundred and odd white-faced 
steers they were, some two-year-olds, but mostly yearlings. 
Their drinking sucked down the level of the water in the 
upper pool. 

But now the pump did not have to be shut off at night for 
fear that its chugging might drown the sound of attackers. 
Billy Bull and the other old Lazy S Bar punchers took turns 
with the “ Old Man” on watch, and Tyrrel had only to boss 
the building of the dams. The pump sucked ceaselessly night 
and day, sending down a constant rill that gained steadily 
over the drinking capacity of the steers. 

As foreman of the drive, Billy Bull had arrived astride of 
Ante. 

“ Some hoss, Mr. Tyrrel,” he said. “A twenty-four-jewel 
stem-winder. When we started, thought he mighten be stiff 
or win’-broke, way he sags his head. But say, he can outrun 
anything on four legs—’lessen it’s a pronghorn.” 

Tyrrel gladly took over his stem-winder. He had had his 
fill of flivver driving. He told off one of the men to keep 
the truck running to and from the railroad for supplies. 
He also sent to Albuquerque for stone masons to heighten the 
upper dam and build a bigger one across the foot of the 
lower hollow. With the masons came a good cook, to round 
out the outfit. 

“We don’t want to let a flood overflow down the draw and 
wet Mr. Welsh’s leased hay,” remarked Tyrrel. “ Soon as 
the dams are ready, we’ll put in the larger pump that’s com¬ 
ing, and fill both holes. Then we’ll save gas by cleaning out 
the old well shaft and plugging up that waste-way hole. 
After that we can sit back and let her flow, up and over and 
down.” 

“ Go to it, son. You’re the doctor,” said Howbert. 



280 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Tyrrel also planned a stone house. Limestone cubes and 
slabs lay all about and were handily shaped for wall build¬ 
ing. The tents that he had bought were all right for rain. 
But better shelter would be necessary during the heavy snows 
of winter. 

The rains still held off. All the conditions for feeding 
were ideal. With plenty of good water and abundance of 
the nutritious sun-cured standing hay close at hand, the 
young steers gorged themselves and began to lay on weight 
fast. 

Nothing had been seen or heard of Welsh or his gunmen 
or of anyone else from the Kay Kay. 

“Mebbe he glassed our outfit from the mesa top and 
reckoned best not to tackle us. Figgered he’d be biting off 
more’n he could chaw,” Howbert guessed at the reason for 
Big Mat’s reticence. 

The first visit they had from the Kay Kay was by the KK 
itself. On his way down past the upper hole, one afternoon, 
Tyrrel noticed a rebranded yearling. Some of the Lazy S 
Bar two-year-olds had been bought the year before by How¬ 
bert. But almost all the yearlings were of his own raising. 

For this reason, the two brands on the yearling at the 
water-hole caught Tyrrel’s eye while he was yet many paces 
away. He looked closer. Below the^ of the Lazy S Bar 
was a KK —exactly as he had helped rebrand the herd of 
yearlings at the Kay Kay ranch. When he called Howbert, 
the old cowman did what he himself had done — scrutinized 
the second brand with utmost care. 

“Nope — ’tain’t. Figgered they might be up to rustling 
tricks. ’Tain’t fresh enough, though. Hey , you, Billy Bull. 
Here’s a Kay Kay stray. Seed any more round? ” 

Billy scratched his grizzled red head. 

“Kay Kay? Nussur — hoi’ on. Las’ night I seed a dry 
bunch come in to tank up—’bout fifty head. Too dark to 



281 


Bluff 

read bran’s. Jus’ same, they come from the wes’ an’ they 
was pow’ful dry. They come a-runnin’.” 

While the foreman gave out this speculative information, 
a puncher came jogging to the far side of the draw. He 
called down across: 

“Hi, Mr. Howb’t! Bunch of Kay Kay steers ’long the 
ridge.” 

“That clinches it,” said Tyrrel. “Mesa drive — Mat 
punched them uphill and let them slide down to us. He 
figures on collecting a little of our water in pay for that 
grass of his. The Kay Kay feeders must be getting in bad 
shape. Look at this one. Not much more on him, if as 
much, than when he left the Lazy S Bar. Well, I guess we 
won’t miss a little water, dad.” 

But the old cowman did not take the matter so lightly. 

“You don’t reckon Big Mat’s going to stop at dribbling 
over a handful, do you? First thing we know, that there 
whole herd’ll be down on us, sucking up our water and eating 
off our grass. I’m a-going to cut out this here bunch and 
trail ’em back and put it up to the Kay Kay to keep their 
strays to home.” 

“ That’s a rather big bite-off, dad.” 

“Well, I reckon me and you’s a pair can beat them three 
of a kind. Don Keith’ll listen to reason. I sided his dad 
once. That leaves only Miss Gerdy to argify.” 

“You forget she is now Mrs. Welsh,” said Tyrrel. 

Howbert looked straight into the contracted eyes of his 
young partner. 

“ Best way to take a dose ain’t to keep sipping at it, son, 
nor to shy off. If you got to take your med’cine, hist it up 
and swaller it down at a gulp.” 

“ That may be true enough of doses. But-” 

“No buts about it! Come along with me. What you got 
to do is look her in the eye and grin. Nothing short of 



282 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 

that’ll cure you. You’ll find her mighty sick of her bargain, 
I tell you, or Big Mat ain’t the son of his dad. I’m going 
to the Kay Kay. Ain’t seed it since old Apache cashed in 
his checks. You coming along? Or are you feared to face 

a gal that throwed you?” „ 

“ It can’t be any worse than it is,” said Tyrrel. I H go. 





CHAPTER XXXIII 


MRS. WELSH 



RASS was still so plentiful near the water that none 


U of the feeders were ranging far. But Tyrrel, How- 
bert, Billy Bull and the punchers spent the remainder of the 
day combing through and all around the herd. From the 
scattered hundreds they cut out sixty-three Kay Kay steers. 
Not one of the bunch bore a raw brand. 

Early the next morning the partners saddled up for the 
drive across the mesa. Billy Bull, just off of night watch, 
came in grinning. 

“You an’ Dick ’er gonna have a han’ful, OP Man. New 
bunch o’ Kay Kay’s laying down ’longside the hole.” 

“Huh!” grunted Howbert. “What’d I tell you, son?” 

Tyrrel did not reply until they stirred up the still-bedded 
new visitors. 

“ Pretty tough on the poor devils, back-trailing so soon,” 
he said. “One thing, though, they’ve had a good drink out 
of it. That’s the last one, dad. I make it forty-three. Over 
a hundred to drive. How about taking Billy along?” 

Jacarilla Howbert gave a hitch to his holstered Colts, 
spat, and made protest: 

“Aw, don’t you go and spoil it, son. I was figgering we 
might run into a bit of real, old-time fun. I ain’t looking 
for trouble, but mebbe Mat is. Any rooster can crow on his 
own dungheap. You don’t want to go and get a innercent 
little boy like Billy into a muss, do you? ” 

Tyrrel looked at Billy’s grizzled red head and battered 
face, and agreed that it would be a shame. 

Nevertheless, Howbert had four of the punchers help them 


283 


284 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


drive the Kay Kays all the way across the west valley to the 
first herd’s trail and up it to the top of the mesa. The un¬ 
fatted calves were exceedingly loath to leave their new-found 
mess of pottage and limitless supply of unscummed water. 
But by the time they reached the mesa top they had been 
forced to realize the inevitable. 

Howbert reckoned the high ground as the no-man’s land 
between the Lazy S Bar and the Kay Kay. At any time now 
the fun might begin. He sent back his four vastly dis¬ 
appointed “ innercents.” 

He and Tyrrel drove the laggard band on, faster than 
before. In anticipation at least, the fun had begun. They 
were across the border. But no “ three of a kind ” dashed 
out of the pines to head back the steers. No rifles cracked 
from the ridge crests. 

The two drove steadily on, across the heights and down 
the west slope. Out below, at the crossing of the round-up 
road, they headed the band on along the herd trail towards 
the nearest Kay Kay water-hole. They themselves turned 
into the road. The fresh steers had moved far faster than 
the drags of Tyrrel and Gerda’s desperate night drive. 

The partners soon stopped to eat their cold snack. They 
took their time over it. When they started on, they held 
their horses to a walk a good part of the way. Howbert 
planned to reach the ranch at sundown, when the laws of 
hospitality would compel an invitation for the visitors to stay 
over night, no matter how unwelcome they might be to the 
Kay Kay. 

But in the final quarter-mile they put their horses into a 
gallop that wound up in a burst of racing speed. At the last 
moment they came to a slithering halt in the angle between the 
horse corral and the rear corner of the stable. Riders com¬ 
ing at top speed are not so easy to shoot as if walking or 
jogging their horses. For the same reason, both riders 



Mrs. Welsh 


285 


reined up in such position that when they flung themselves 
out of their saddles each had his horse between him and the 
stable. 

No one was in sight. But the clattering approach of the 
visitors evidently had attracted attention. The rear door 
of the stable began slowly to creak open. Howbert grinned 
with anticipation. 

From the half open door limped, not Welsh or Butch or 
Redeye, but old Jake. As usual, he was on duty. Tyrrel’s 
eyes glowed at sight of the lame little wrangler. He sang 
out affectionate greeting: 

“ J Lo, parson. Looking for black sheep?” 

“Held — heh! Well, I’ll be gosh — great Jumpin’ Jee- 
hoss -ee-fat! If ’tain’t Hack How. Heh! heh! Well, well, 
well! I’ll be gosh-rotted twice! Well, well, Hack, you old 
keg o’ sour pickles! ’Member that time me and you and 
’Pache cleaned out the Mescalero renegades, up in the-” 

“Ain’t lost your tongue, Jake — leastways not more’n two- 
three yards of it,” broke in Howbert. “ Dick and me wouldn’t 
mind cleaning up some chuck, if ’tain’t t’other side a peck of 
cattriges.” 

“Heh — if it’s Butch and Red you’re skeered of, you poor, 
broken-down, miser’ble old tenderfoot, they’s not to home. 
Big Mat’s had ’em north, line riding, a couple weeks. Get 
down on your sinful old marrer bones and thank your lucky 
stars you didn’t meet-up with them fire-eaters. They’d ’a’ et 
you alive, horn, hoof, ’n’ hair. Why, them feerocious 
lobos-” 

Tyrrel was in no mood for chaffing. He had come to go 
through with the ordeal and be done. He asked sharply: 

“Family home?” 

“ Yeppe, kid — Mr. Tyrrel. Donnie, he told me all ’bout 
you busting into that there water. Don’t mind saying I’m 
gosh-rotted dee-lighted — hold on. Don’t you bother. 





286 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Lemme off-saddle ’em both. Just you toddle along and 
get it.” 

Howbert grunted dejectedly as he and Tyrrel made for the 
casa. 

, 44 Ought to’ve knowed it’d be bad luck bringing back them 

steers. Thirty-forty year ago I’d ’a’ blotted the brand and 
stirred up a leetle fun. As ’tis, we ain’t even met-up with 
them lobo fire-eaters.” 

Tyrrel said nothing. He was thinking of his last departure 
from the Kay Kay — though not of the final dash from the 
stable in front of the three blazing pistol muzzles. His 
thoughts were all upon the far more bitter parting in the 
patio with — Mrs. Welsh. 

In the outer courtyard he led Howbert direct to the gate 
of the garden. After some little time his ring brought the 
housemaid. She gave the old man only a half glance. Her 
eyes fixed upon Tyrrel, wide with utter wonderment. 

This time there was no gayness in his heart or jest upon 
his lips. He gravely raised his hat. 

44 Miss Janet, permit me to introduce my partner Mr. How¬ 
bert. We have come to see the owners of the Kay Kay on 
a matter of business.” 

44 Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Thank you, Mr. Howbert,” 
murmured the flustered maid. 44 They are in the drawing 
room, sirs. Please to come right in. Thank you.” 

The old habit of wariness, as much as curiosity, kept the 
cowman’s glance darting all around as they passed into the 
patio and around the fountain and on across the veranda. 
Tyrrel looked only at the bed of American Beauty roses. 
There was no sign now of Gerda’s trampling. Every broken 
stem had been pruned off. New shoots were springing up in 
response to careful watering and fertilizing. Women sure 
were 44 queer critters.” 

In the doorway of the sala the still-flustered maid an- 



Mrs. Welsh 


287 


nounced the visitors without a word of forewarning. Tyrrel, 
first named, stepped in ahead of his partner. 

The family were at the far end of the big room, listening 
to a new batch of phonograph records. Welsh whirled to face 
the outer door, his hand at his hip. Keith stood up rather 
dazedly, for once in his life disconcerted. Pilar clasped her 
hands, and then, with a half frightened glance at Gerda, 
darted across to meet Tyrrel. She left the record playing. 
It was Isolde’s Love-Death from Wagner’s opera, Tristan 
and Isolde. 

Of all the astonished four, Tyrrel saw only Gerda. Unlike 
the others, she sat perfectly still. Across the sala , in the 
fading light of sunset, he could not be sure that her face lost 
color. Her utter stillness was the last thing that he had 
expected. 

Pilar danced up to him, her black eyes beaming with affec¬ 
tion and delight. Her outflung hands compelled his attention. 

“Buenos dias, mi querido amigo! ” she greeted. 

“Con Dios , chiquita! ” he replied, and he kissed her, first 
on one cheek and then upon the other. 

Jacarilla Howbert grunted and waddled across the polished 
floor, no more abashed than if the richly furnished sala had 
been a hotel lobby. 

“’Scuse us dropping in on you folks so suddenlike,” he 
drawled. “ Guess your hired gal got the loop twisted. My 
side-pard told her we come on business. Wanted she should 
steer us to the office. I don’t mind, though, seeing the old 
parlor again. Beats all how womenfolks like dewdads, Miss 
Gerdy. You got your comp’ny room slicked up a damsi — 
durnsight more ornymental than ’twas last time I seen your 
pa to home.” 

Gerda had risen. She came forward ahead of her brother, 
a quietly smiling hostess, all cordial graciousness without a 
trace of hauteur or condescension. She took the old man’s 




288 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


skinny hand in a hearty clasp. 

“ I am my dad’s daughter, Mr. Howbert. You’re very 
welcome to the ranch he left us — you and your-” 

“My pard. He’s come into the Lazy S Bar on a third 
basis — same’s Mat busted into the Kay Kay.” 

Of all present, none was more surprised than Tyrrel. It 
had been understood that he was to own a share in the Lazy 
S Bar, but no definite amount or proportion had been fixed. 
The old man’s outfit was as big as the Kay Kay. At the 
best, Tyrrel had counted only upon a fifth interest in the 
feeders brought to the new range, and half of the future 
calves, if his partner should choose to shift any cows from 
his old range. 

With an odd masked look at Welsh, Gerda left Howbert 
shaking hands with her brother and went past him to greet 
his partner. Pilar shrank a little and drew around half 
behind Tyrrel’s shoulder. But her cousin did not even appear 
to see her. She gazed at Tyrrel with inscrutable eyes, her 
red lips ever so slightly curved in what might have been the 
beginning of a smile. 

“ You look fit, Dick, though a bit pulled. Must have fallen 
off ten or twelve pounds. Dinner is about to be served. 
We’ll eat first, and talk over your business afterwards.” 

“Our clothes, Mrs. Welsh. We did not expect-” 

Her lips tightened at his unhesitating use of the name. 

“ Mrs. Welsh is still the daughter of Apache Keith. When 
I ask visitors to dine with us I mean it. Your clothes don’t 
matter. It’s not your hat but what’s under it that counts. 
But you’ll wish to freshen up. Janet, please show Mr. Tyrrel 
and Mr. Howbert upstairs. Put them in one of the — no, the 
wing is still all torn up. They will have Miss Chavez’ suite 
for the night.’* 

“But — but we couldn’t think of turning Pilar out!” 
stammered Tyrrel. “ Bunks or the hay loft will do just a3 





Mrs . Welsh 


289 


well — or better.” 

66 If you’ll kindly go right up. We do not wish the soup 
to cool.” 

“ Lord, no,” agreed Howbert. “ I ain’t too proud to eat 
spoon-vittles, if you ain’t got reg’lar food.” 

Upstairs, in the middle of Pilar’s boudoir, he stared around, 
as wild-eyed as a renegade steer in the branding chute. 

“ Gee-inger! ” he hoarsely whispered. “Looks jus’ like a 
purty gal at a hoe-down in one them pink-lace mantilla things 
and white slippers. D’you figger we should oughta take off 
our boots? ” 

“Well, we might when we go to bed, if you think it’s neces¬ 
sary,” said Tyrrel. 

Howbert looked in at the dainty carved bedstead. It was 
bare of everything except the box springs. 

“Huh. That ain’t so worse,” he grunted. “ I was feared 
they was going to bed us down in one them goose-hair 
smotheroons.” 

Each suite of rooms in the main casa had been piped with 
modern plumbing. As he lathered his face and hands and 
hair with the delicately scented soap, the old man chuckled. 

“Ranch house, heh! Plumb ridic’lous — reg’lar dude hos¬ 
telry. What d’you s’pose Mat thought of it when he first 
signed the register?” 

“What’s he thinking now, dad?” 

“You can’t prove it by me. Mebbe, though, I might make 
a guess. You see him reach for it?” 

“ Couldn’t have been that, dad. He wasn’t expecting us. 
He’d not be packing a gun in the family circle.” 

“ Mebbe not. Mebbe ’twas t’other kind that kicks worser 
and kills more partic’pants than innercent bystanders. Mat 
was weaned on that kind of bottle.” 

Tyrrel said nothing but thought hard. What did it all 
mean? Not even a mattress on Pilar’s bed; Gerda as gracious 



290 _ Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


as a day in June; and Welsh — whatever the weapon in his 
hip pocket — showing unmistakable signs of drink. Like 
most men of his class, he of course had to have his liquor, 
regardless of the laws of his country. But never before had 
he shown the after-effects of a spree. 

The cowman would as soon have looted a jeweler’s shop as 
touch any article of Pilar’s exquisite toilet set. He borrowed 
his partner’s pocket comb to rake the tangles out of his wet 
gray hair. While waiting for him in the boudoir, Tyrrel 
looked at Pilar’s little shrine. It occupied a niche that had 
been left in the thick wall for such purpose when the casa 
grande was built, a century or more past. 

Below the beautiful statuette of Virgin and Child stood 
the ancient altar pieces that he had brought from the ruined 
pueblo — chalice, bell, crucifix, and candlesticks. All were 
brightly polished, and the mashed candlestick had been fairly 
well restored to shape. Both it and its mate held votary 
wax candles. Beside the little crucifix lay Pilar’s old crucifix- 
handled dagger. 

Down in the sala they found the young girl rather sub¬ 
dued, and Welsh more lowering than before. But Keith was 
no less cordial, and Gerda still more gracious. Dinner was 
waiting. She gave the visitors the places on either side of 
her. Her brother sat opposite, as usual, to carve. Pilar 
was at Tyrrel’s left; Welsh between Keith and his old enemy 
of the Lazy S Bar. If any other arrangement could have 
been thought of more exasperating to a husband, Tyrrel 
could not conjecture it. 

One thing alone was clear to him: Mrs. Welsh was not on 
the best of terms with Mr. Welsh. During the meal he had 
ample confirmation of the fact. Without for a moment los¬ 
ing her gracious manner, Gerda tormented Welsh with ironical 
subtlety. 

She made Tyrrel give in detail his reasons for expecting 



Mrs. Welsh 


291 


to find the hidden water. He was too modest to tell how he 
had been able to fetch Howbert in time to hold possession 
of his claim. But the old man was only too ready to 44 crack 
up” what his young partner had done. 

He bragged about Tyrrel’s record long-distance ride over 
the Chupadera. He admired his planning of the dams before¬ 
hand, so that there would be no delay in trailing the feeders 
to the new range. He added that the steers were laying on 
beef hand-over-fist. 

This last 44 got a rise” out of Welsh. The dark red of 
his face became still darker. He broke his morose silence. 

44 I’ll law all that beef out of your hides,” he promised. 
44 It’s my leased land you’re grazing. You lied to me, Tyrrel. 
You agreed to keep your cattle off my range.” 

44 1 agreed not to graze any rustled cattle on your grass. 
In the first place, I have only your word that it is your 
range. In the second place, I have my partner’s word that 
none of our stock have been rustled.” 

44 We got nine points of the law,” chimed in Howbert. 44 If 
you want to try out the other point, sue and be da-urned. 
We got a come-back on you — a double come-back. A 
hun’erd head of them feeders I sold the Kay Kay drifted 
in to suck up our water. They come back with us over 
the mesa.” 

Keith could not hide his astonishment. 

44 Our steers could not possibly have ranged across the 
mesa.” 

44 Not without being shoved. Question is, who done the 
shoving?” 

44 Must have been a burro, Mr. Howbert,” said Gerda. 
44 Anyone with a grain of sense would have known better.” 

She looked towards Welsh as if for confirmation. He 
smiled with sardonic mirth. 

44 We’ve got only his word and Tyrrel’s for it, Mrs. Welsh. 



292 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


If any Kay Kay steers saw the other side of the mesa — 
which I doubt — like as not the men that shoved them across 
expected to do some Lazy S Bar brand-blotting, but lacked 
the nerve. I’ll add that if any of our cattle have or do get 
over there, they are on their own range. Nobody has a right 
to back-trail them.” 

“ Mebbe so, mebbe so,” admitted Howbert. “ Only thing, 
I kind of cherish a sort of liking for the progeny of Apache 
Keith. Furthermore, I don’t like to see good cattle famish 
for lack of water. I’m notifying 3 ^ou now, if any more strays 
cross the mesa, they’s going to be a hog-proof fence round 
our water-holes, and the ticket of admission ain’t going to 
be a Kay Kay. That settles the business end of our visit, 
and-” 

“Tyrrel, do you stand for that?” asked Keith. 

“ By no means. I-” 

“No argifying, son,” broke in Howbert. “The majority 
of the Lazy S Bar votes aye. Matter is settled. Mighty 
nice pie you bake, Miss Gerdy.” 

At the end of the meal Welsh left without a word. Gerda 
promptly abandoned Tyrrel to Pilar, and devoted her evening 
to Howbert. She kept at him to tell over his experiences in 
company with her father when the West was still really wild. 

Keith sat apart, absorbed in thought. Pilar told Tyrrel 
that he was worrying about the feeders. The only offer for 
them that he had been able to get had been ruinously low. 

“And the rains still hold off, Don Ricardo. The best of 
our water-holes are now little more than scum and slime and 
mud.” 

Tyrrel looked across the sala at his partner and Gerda. 

“ If only Welsh were out of it,” he muttered. “ I might 
be able to do something.” 






CHAPTER XXXIV 


FAIR MEANS AND FOUL 

W ELSH did not come to the sala at any time that eve¬ 
ning. Gerda and Pilar retired rather early. After 
a cigar with Keith, the partners also went to turn in. On 
the dainty bedstead they now found a double mattress, snowy 
sheets, and a lace-edged satin coverlet. 

Howbert recoiled from that object of terror. He pulled 
off his boots and bedded down on the polished floor in a 
Navajo rug, with the boots for pillow. Tyrrel had the bed 
to himself. Wrapped about in luxury, he lay awake half 
the night to the tune of his partner’s snoring. What was 
it about Gerda and Welsh? 

Wakefulness routed him out at peep of day. As he tiptoed 
from the younger girl’s boudoir to go downstairs, he heard the 
sonorous voice of Gerda through the thickness of the massive 
door across the corridor. She was calling upon Pilar to 
get up. 

To speed the guests on their return journey, breakfast was 
served very early. Neither Pilar nor Welsh appeared. The 
only thing notable about the meal was Gerda’s continued 
graciousness and her brother’s absorption. 

When the time came for them to see their guests off, Tyrrel 
somehow found himself with Gerda behind the others. She 
had suddenly fallen silent. Out in the garden, beside the bed 
of American Beauties, she paused. 

“ Look,” she murmured. “ Some are still in bloom. What 
do you think of them ? ” 

Tyrrel choked down the lump in his throat. 

“They are as glorious and as thorny as ever.” 

293 


294 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


She reached down and broke off the stem of a great half- 
blown bud. She held it out to Tyrrel. He edged back. 

“ Glory Girl! Those thorns — you should not have done 
it! And I cannot accept. You are — Mrs. Welsh.” 

“As a memento of the past, Dick.” 

He took the fragrant crimson gift in a hungry grasp. She 
opened the white hand that had broken off the stem. The 
piercing thorns had reddened her palm to a crimson like that 
of the bud. 

“Yes,” she murmured. “I am Mrs. Welsh. I am not 
apt to forget the fact. No less is the fact apt to remain 
true. I took him for better or for worse. I am now a Welsh, 
but I’m not a welcher — if you’ll forgive the pun. I pledged 
myself until death — my death or his!” 

Her eyes suddenly flamed with the passion that seethed 
within her. 

“ You two! ” she cried. “ Call yourselves men! He let you 
slip through his clumsy fingers. You ran!” 

“Like a scared jackrabbit, Mrs. Welsh.” 

“Oh, I know. Donnie told me. It was for Pilar — that 
sly little .... but don’t be too sure. She might be will¬ 
ing to take you — out of spite .... only she’ll not have 
the chance. You’re mine — you know it! You’re mine till 
you die or I die! ” 

Tyrrel crushed the half-flown bud in his hand. He tore 
it off and flung down the stem. 

“ Keep that part. I’ll keep this,” he said. 

With the crushed bud still clutched tight in his hand, he 
went on around the path, leaving her standing beside the old 
fountain, with the roseless, thorny stem at her feet. 

Old Jake waited at the inner gate with the horses of the 
guests. An “ Adios /” from Keith, and the partners were 
jogging off on their return trip. 

Three miles or more along their way, Howbert skewed 



Fair Means and Foul 


295 


himself sideways to bush his eyebrows at his stern-faced 
companion. 

“Well, son, didn’t it work all hunkydory? You went and 
done it like a little man. You come and looked her square 
in the eye. Feel a heap better now, don’t you?” 

“If you want to know, dad, I feel like — murder!” 

“Nope — not that. It ain’t sensiblelike. You always 
want to make it self-defense. If you get another chance, 
just give him first draw. He’s slower’n ’lasses in January. 
What 3 ^ou choking in your fist?” 

Tyrrel looked down and realized that he was still clutching 
the rose. He thrust it into the left pocket of his shirt. 

“ It’s only a crushed something that was and now isn’t, 
dad.” 

“Huh — what you hanging onto it for, then?” 

Several miles farther along he added: 

“ Seeing as how it’s busted and done for, why in the name 
of Sam Hill don’t you put your rope on the leetle gal? 
Sheep money ain’t so disrep’table that it won’t buy cows.” 

“ That’s it. Why don’t I? ” Tyrrel asked himself. “ Why 
can’t a man be as sensible as a burro — take grass when he 
can’t get oats? Nice tasty grass full of posies! Only 
trouble .... supposing you still could get your hoof 
up on the rail, dad — how would you like the barkeep to 
shove you a violet ice cream soda just after you’d climbed 
outside three fingers of real, old, bottled-in-bond snake- 
medicine? ” 

At the end of another mile, when they left the round-up 
road and turned up the cattle-trail, Howbert thought he saw 
the way out for his partner. 

“Look yonder on the ridge, son. It’s a-coming to meet 
you. Easy as rolling off a log. I’ll take care of the pair of 
black Jacks. All you got to do is tell him you don’t like the 
cut of his ears—’specially that Lazy S Bar notch under the 



296 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


patch he wears. Let him get his gun clean outen its holster, 
so’s they can’t be no doubt of it being self-defense.” 

Tyrrel’s eyes clouded with regret. 

“Self-defense, dad? You’re right about his being slow. 
I saw him draw on you. I could let him drag it clear out 
and up, and still get him. Self-defense? It would be cold¬ 
blooded murder.” 

“Uh, — ain’t you putting it purty strong? I’d ’a’ figgered 
it leastways was sort of lukewarm. Don’t you disremember 
he’s the son of One-Gun Welsh. Sooner or later he’s going 
to get you, if you don’t get him first. He’s tried two-three 
times a’ready.” 

“No use your talking,” said Tyrrel. “Can’t you see how 
I’m hog-tied ? It would not be because he deserved it, but be¬ 
cause I wanted her . . . . I do want her. I’d shoot off 
my hand to get her. But I’ll not pull leather. It’s going 
to be a clean win, or none at all. I don’t want Mat Welsh’s 
wife. I want the woman my Glory Girl is going to be when 
she’s gentled.” 

“Um-m-m! 99 sighed Howbert of the Jacarillas. But hope 
flickered again in his saddened eyes. “What if I — uh — 
what if he starts the shindy?” 

“ That would make it real self-defense. But it would just 
as surely lose her to me. She must herself come to realize — 
look! It’s all off now, anyway.” 

The three distant riders on the ridge top had separated. 
Two rode back down the trail on the far side at top speed. 
The other came on slowly. 

“Big Mat’s sure got his gall with him,” said Howbert. 
“ Counts on us passing him up ’cause he’s alone. But why 
in thunder did he head back Red and Butch for?” 

“ You’ve told it. He knows we’ll not touch him by himself.” 

When they neared the approaching rider he stopped and 
dismounted to tighten his cinch. His horse swung crossways 



Fair Means and Foul 


297 


of the trail. As the other horses started to go around, 
Welsh stepped in front of them. He met Howbert’s hostile 
stare and Tyrrel’s curt nod with a show of bluff cordiality 
that did not go with the look in his bloodshot eyes. 

“ Morning, gentlemen! Don’t happen to have the makin’s, 
do you?” 

Howbert fingered his plug of chewing tobacco, and put 
it back. Tyrrel tossed down a half-full sack of Durham. 

“ Keep it,” he said. 44 1 have another. Good morning.” 

But Welsh still stood blocking the way, the smile on his 
thin lips belying the glint in his eyes. 

44 Sorry I missed the pleasure of the evening with you. 
Came out to tell the boys not to let any more strays drift 
up the mesa. I’m willing to wait for the courts to decide it.” 

44 Meaning, you lay down?” inquired Howbert. 

44 No, by — I mean, I’m going to fight you to a finish — 
but it’ll be in the courts. I own up I’ve pulled off some pretty 
rough stuff on Tyrrel. But I’ve come to see things his way. 
It’s not like the days of our dads. Besides, I don’t want to 
get my partners into a muss. How about it, Tyrrel?” 

44 Suits me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll be on our way.” 

The forward thrust of Ante compelled Welsh to step aside 
before he could reply. Tyrrel rode off without so much as 
a glance over his shoulder. But Howbert had been bred in 
the good old times when men like Welsh did not hesitate to 
shoot enemies in the back. He slued half around in his saddle 
and made a casual query about the Kay Kay grass and the 
prospects of rain. 

Welsh did not answer. He was already swinging into his 
saddle. He galloped off homewards. 

44 Son,” observed the old cowman, 44 1 segashyate we been 
held up. Question now before the meeting is, why for?” 

Ante quickened his pace up the slope of the ridge on which 
the 44 three of a kind ” had separated. The crest gave view 



298 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


of a long stretch of trail ahead. But Redeye and Butch 
had disappeared. Tyrrel gazed dreamily at the landscape. 

“What d’you say, dad? Strikes me that arroyo here 
below offers a nice private chute up into the ravine south of 
the trail draw. Colonel Cody once told me it was a good 
idea in Indian country to make your back trip by another 
trail.” 

“Bill said a mouthful when he said that. Shouldn’t 
wonder a-tall if they’s a couple purty boys behind them far 
rocks a-going to miss something.” 

In the hollow between the ridge and the next rise, the 
partners turned off the herd trail and plunged into the 
gravelly bed of the arroyo. Almost at once Howbert pointed 
to fresh tracks among the many wind-blurred older ones. 

“One hoss going up last evening — bar acrost the off hind 
shoe. Same hoss down since sun-up, ’long with two more. 
We ain’t the first to use the ladies’ entrance, son.” 

Tyrrel put Ante into a lope. After half a mile he stopped 
to climb the steep side of the arroyo and peer over the edge. 
The rocks of which Howbert had spoken were no more than 
fair rifle-shot away. The trail ran along their far side. 
Tyrrel could see nothing of Butch or Redeye. But two 
saddled horses stood tied to the thorny greasewood shrubs in 
an angle between the ledges. 

He rode after Howbert, who had continued to follow the 
horse tracks. The arroyo curved around and up into a 
ridge-rimmed bowl, at the foot of the steep ravine in the wall 
of the mesa. Scattered about the hollow were over two hun¬ 
dred head of young white-faces. Their fine condition struck 
Howbert no less quickly than Tyrrel. 

“’Pears like they’s been getting better grass and water 
than them other Kay Kays we trailed home, son. Mebbe a 
leetle tank at the gully foot big enough for the bunch. They 
look flourishing as our own feeders. Mighty good stock. 



Fair Means and Foul 


299 


them white-faces, when you give ’em half a — Gee-roos-lum! 
Lookut that brand!” 

Most of the young steers were scattering off to the left. 
But one had lingered to stare wide-eyed at the riders. Tyrrel 
was already unbuckling his rope. Within a quarter of a 
minute he had the steer thrown and hog-tied. They had no 
need to look close at the KK below the old, hairy, growth- 
magnified iZL. The burn ©f the iron was still raw. 

They freed the captive and bunched enough of the others 
to convince themselves that the KK’s of all were fresh 
branded. 

“Purty slick!” said the reputed one-time rustler. 
“Purty slick! If onty he’d ’a’ headed Butch and Red out 
round us, ’stead of back, he’d ’a’ had no slip-up. Purty 
slick! Each trip ’crost the mesa they took a bunch of Kay 
Kays over, and fetched back twice as many Lazy S Bars. In 
another month it’s been mighty hard to sift out the rustled 
ones from their herd.” 

“ Mr. Keith and Gerda had no hand in this! ” 

Howbert did not even trouble to nod, the fact was so 
obvious. 

“Question is how best to cinch it on ’em. Easy enough 
to slip back and bushwhack them bushwhackers. After that 
we can chase over the mesa and get our boys and come back 
for Mat.” 

“We’ll take ’em alive, dad — and take ’em in to the Kay 
Kay.” 

“ Uh-uh — not by a little bit. We don’t know how many 
of their outfit is siding ’em. Le’s go. Mayn’t be healthy 
here’bouts.” 

Rifles in hand, they raced back down the arroyo. Op¬ 
posite the rocks they dismounted. There was no cover for 
horses between the arroyo and the rocks. From the top of 
the bank they saw the horses of the liers-in-wait just going 



300 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


down over the west end of the rock comb. 

Wary against an ambush, they worked their way forward 
from bush to bush. As they neared the rocks they crawled 
still more cautiously, with rifles half raised. But no bullets 
came pinging at them from the ledges. At the last was a 
fifty-yard open stretch. Howbert covered with his rifle, while 
Tyrrel made the dash. 

Cowboy boots are not built for sprinting, yet Tyrrel made 
the fifty yards reasonably close to record time. He dropped 
in the shelter of the first ledge, steadied himself with a few 
deep breaths, and bounded up the ledges to the crest. 

His first darting glance failed to see man or horse. It 
swept out around from the opposite base of the rocks. Down 
the trail, half a mile away, two horsemen were loping over 
the rise on the near side of the arroyo valley. Without stop¬ 
ping to think, he flung up his rifle and fired. 

Howbert leaped up on the crest beside him just as the 
riders raced from view down the far side of the rise. 

“Shucks!” he cried. “You shouldn’t ought a done that.” 

“You’re right. We could have cut down the gully and 
overtaken them within a mile or two, dad.” 

“ Caught ’em sneaking up the arroyo, you mean. They 
was going to see where we’d gone to. Now they’re hitting 
for home. Hun and fetch our hosses. We got to trail along 
our ownselves. They can’t get away with the evidence on 
short notice, but mebbe they can jump the country. We got 
to get the wires hot, telling four-five sheriffs all about it.” 



CHAPTER XXXV 


THE CARCASS DELICIOUS 

B Y HARD riding, the partners reached the camp at 
Tabru soon after the noon hour. Tyrrel wrote the 
telegrams as dictated by the old cowman. They sent Billy 
Bull loping off with the messages on the best horse of his 
mount. He had orders to wait at the railroad for answers 
to all the telegrams. 

Close upon sundown one of the incoming range riders saw 
a strange horseman slanting across the west valley. When 
he reported this Tyrrel himself went up out of the draw to 
look. The visitor had reached the near slope. 

Tyrrel found his partner at the lower dam, as deeply en¬ 
grossed in examining the stone work as if he had never heard 
of a rustler. 

“ It’s coming along, son. That bonus is making ’em sweat. 
It’s coming along right smart.” 

“ So is something else, dad. There’s a hat on the west slope 
that may belong to a Mexican vaquero , but I doubt it.” 

Equally puzzled, they hastened up to their own tent. Keith 
had pushed his horse. Very soon he came loping aslant the 
hill top. He drew rein before the partners, beaming with all 
the geniality of his nature. 

“Buenos dias , amigos! Look at that pump-stream! 
Voder de Dios! And water, not slime! Lead me to it. I’m 
dry as a fish!” 

u She’ll be throwing more’n double that, soon’s we get the 
dams fixed,” said Howbert. “ Step right in. Bucket and 
dipper all ready.” 

Inside the bosses’ tent the visitor drank a full quart of the 

301 


302 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


cool pure water, rinsed his bald head, and sat down on a 
canned-goods case to fan himself with his hat. He smiled at 
Tyrrel’s grave face. 

“You can guess what I have come for, Dick.” 

“ Well, no, I can’t say I do.” 

“Think of Pilar. That may jog your memory. She did 
not tell me what you said until she came down, a good two 
hours after you left. I followed you as soon as I had a talk 
with Gerda.” 

“Oh, yes — about your feeders.” 

Howbert turned upon Tyrrel with a look that would have 
made most men cringe. 

“What’s that? You double-crossing me?” 

“No, no, Mr. Howbert!” interposed Keith. “It was only 
that if Mat were out of it-” 

“ Out the Kay Kay? ” 

“ Yes. I’ve had my hands tied. Gerda has been backing 
him against me. But now — I can’t make that girl out, to 
save me! First furious for, then dead against! ” 

“ Takes after her dad,” grunted Howbert. “Apache 
hated hard likker like pizen, but if hell wasn’t popping ’long 
some other line, he just nachelly had to go on a bust to keep 
the dust from settling.” 

“Well, Gerda is on one now — or rather, on the war-path. 
She says, if Welsh does not wipe up the earth with your out¬ 
fit within the week, he goes out of the Kay Kay, and she stays 
in.” 

Tyrrel could not restrain his astonishment. 

“You mean, they will — separate?” 

“Separate! Didn’t Pilar tell you? It’s never been any¬ 
thing else. Right at the first she refused to live with him 
until he — unless he rode you. Now you know why he tried 
so hard to kill you at the stable, the day of their marriage.” 

A flood of elation, of exultance, of intense joy, surged up 




The Carcass Delicious 


303 


within Tyrrel. His girl — his Glory Girl! He could still 
think of her as his own! That marriage had been only an 
empty form. She was Welsh’s wife only in name. 

But close upon the taste of honey came the dash of bitter 
gall. She had given him her answer to the old question, 
“ What’s in a name?” A Welsh who was not a welcher — a 
wife in name alone, yet pledged until death! If release came 
to her before death, her husband must be the one to give it. 
The stronger her love urged her towards freedom, the more 
stubbornly her pride would block the way. 

Keith had paused for another dipperful of water. 

“The point now is, he must throw you within the week, 
or get out. I will raise the money to pay him his third, even 
if I have to borrow from Pilar’s trust fund. What riled 
Gerda was that while I was talking with Pilar, he came in and 
told of his pleasant meeting with you on the road.” 

“ They’s a leetle story ’bout that, too, Donnie,” chuckled 
Howbert. “ It’ll keep, though. Go on. I gather as how 
Miss Gerdy boiled over.” 

“Not at first, but while we were talking about what Pilar 
had told me. It was then, as I was about to leave, that 
Gerda saw him talking with that savory pair of his. She 
went out and gave him his time limit for making good.” 

Howbert grinned at his silent partner. 

“What d’you reckon? Is he going to make it forget-me- 
nots or everlastings?” 

“You may surmise from my coming what I believe the out¬ 
come will be,” went on Keith. “ I thought I’d be forehanded. 
My understanding is that Dick told Pilar he would try to help 
the Kay Kay if we rid ourselves of Mat.” 

“ I’ll be only too glad to do what I can, Mr. Keith,” replied 
Tyrrel. “But of course it is for Mr. Howbert to decide. 
He owns the controlling interest in our partnership. I was 
counting on my knowledge that he’s white and square as they 



304 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


make ’em, and that he has nothing against the son and 
daughter of Apache Keith.” 

“What’s the proposition?” Howbert grunted at the 
visitor. 

“ I would like to haggle with you for a bargain, Mr. How¬ 
bert, but I can’t even make a bluff. There’s no market for 
those feeders of ours, and we have no more than grass enough 
to carry over our other cattle, even if the rains set in at once. 
All I can do is throw up my hands and leave it to you.” 

“Meaning, you want we should graze all them feeders?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Uh-h — where we going to get the grass? According to 
Mat, this here’s all his leased range. S’pose you kick him out 
the Kay Kay, he’ll have a big wad of cash, you say. S’pose 
he gets a injunction and comes round with a bunch of dep’ty 
gunmen ? ” 

Keith’s face fairly beamed. 

“We’ll be the ones to get that injunction. Mat slipped 
up when he took out the lease in his own name, instead of using 
a dummy. During the life of our partnership agreement, all 
interests related to the cattle business acquired by any mem¬ 
ber of the Kay Kay become partnership assets — and they 
stay with the outfit, whoever withdraws.” 

“Looks kind of like you got a mule ready to back up 
against Mat. Mebbe we got a couple hun’erd mules. 
What’d you say if I told you they’s a bunch of Lazy S Bar 
steers over on your side the mesa toting new Kay Kay 
brands ?” 

“Why — of course there are — a thousand.” 

“I’m talking ’bout a bunch with fresh brands — raw 
brands.” 

Off came Keith’s spectacles. He wiped them, mopped his 
head, wiped the glasses again, put them on, and stared in¬ 
credulously. 



The Carcass Delicious 


305 


“ You’re joking! ” 

“Reckon Mat’ll think it a left-handed joke ’fore we get 
done with him.” 

“Mat?” 

Tyrrel told in a few words about the meeting with Welsh, 
the move to avoid the assassins, the finding of the rustled 
steers, and the flight of the gunmen. 

At the end of the brief recital, Keith rinsed off his head 
with a dipperful of the cool water and wiped his glasses for 
the third time. 

“I — I couldn’t have believed it possible. He has always 
been as straight as he was hard-headed — until this. It 
must be the double rasp of his old enmity towards you, Mr. 
Howbert, and the newer hate for Dick.” 

“ That started when Dick out-roped and out-rode him at 
the rodeo. Sure riled the big cuss a-plenty. Would ’a’ 
thought, though, even the son of One-Gun couldn’t ’a’ been 
so ornery ’bout losing first money.” 

“ Not the money. It of course was, and is, my sister. She 
is partly to blame. Well — she is paying for it — paying 
terribly, poor girl. But about Mat — are you absolutely 
certain? It does not seem possible he would take such a 
risk. Could it not have been those two and someone else—- 
that deputy he brought over here to bluff Dick ? ” 

The old man bared his few scraggy teeth in a sardonic grin. 

“Reckon the court’ll take my testimony as a qualified 
expert on rustling. Wouldn’t take it to court, though—we 
got evidence enough to hold a necktie party — only Dick, 
he ain’t going to allow no carcass delicious.” 

“You mean, corpus delicti , don’t you?” 

“Mebbe it’s hab'us carcass. ’Sail the same in Dutch. 
Anyhow, he ain’t going to let it get betwixt him and Miss 
Gerdy. Savvy?” 

Keith looked Tyrrel straight in the eye. 



306 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“ I did not take you for the kind to play fast and loose, 
Dick? How about Pilar?” 

“ She’s a mighty sweet little girl, Mr. Keith. I have 
thought of her some. Who could help it? But it mostly has 
been as a brother. Trouble with you, it’s been as a gran’dad. 
You’re a fish if you don’t want her, and you’re acting like one 
if you do want her. ” 

“ She is only seventeen. I am thirty-three — and look at 
my head.” 

“What of it? Caesar was bald when he conquered Gaul. 
Try a little gall yourself.” 

“ The worst of it, Dick, she is a Catholic and my cousin.” 

“No, only half cousin. I remember she raised the point. 
You could get a dispensation. Man alive, the way you’ve 
been ‘my childing’ her, it sounded like you meant it. Tell 
her you’re feeling like a boy and you want her to mother you. 
If you’re going to play the game, go in to -win. Don’t forget, 
even a fish has a backbone.” 

“Which remembers me, we got salt mack’rel for supper,” 
put in Howbert. “ I seen the cook bust a keg. Le’s go 
get it.” 

The bosses had a separate mess, not because the owners of 
the Lazy S Bar were developing aristocratic tastes, but be¬ 
cause, with the stone masons to seat, room was lacking at the 
regular table. During the meal the partners and their guest 
discussed all the plans they could think of for getting more 
evidence of Welsh’s guilt. 




CHAPTER XXXVI 


A SLIVER OF STEEL 

A FTER the departure of Keith for Tabru there had been 
L an attempted revolt at the Kay Kay ranch. Redeye 
possessed a little imagination, and, unlike Butch, he had never 
been beaten to a pulp by Welsh. 

He was out in the corral, saddling his horse, when Welsh 
followed him from the casa with Butch. 

“ Here, what you think you’re doing? ” demanded Welsh. 
Redeye warily swung the horse around between them and 
gave another heave on his cinch. 

“ If you want to know, I’m a-going to hit out. I’m a-going 
to hit out while the going’s good.” 

Butch squinted at his own corraled horse and started to 
take the rope from his saddle, on the top rail of the fence. 

“ Put it back,” ordered Welsh. “You, Red — take that 
saddle off.” 

With the end of his cinch-strap half hitched in its ring. 
Redeye sought to spar. 

“ I just got to leave, Mat. You best fade away too. It 
ain’t going to be healthy round here no more. I tell you, 
Jacarilla must ’a’ run ’cross them steers. Why else’d 
he’ve sneaked round and took that crack at us? He’ll tell 
Glass-Eyes, and Glass-Eyes is sore at you — like Miss Gerdy. 
They won’t stand up for their own outfit. They’ll raise a 
rumpus — try to throw us. And Jacarilla a-top all the rest! 
’Scuse me! I’m on my way! ” 

Welsh jeered: 

“ Great hand I hold! Drew for three jacks, and was dealt 
three two-spots! Talk about nervy gun-toters — Slim quit, 

307 


308 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


you quitting, and Butch ready to quit!” 

“Don’t you call us quitters, Mat. We ain’t got no stake 
in the game. You got stacks of blue chips in the jackpot. 
We ain’t got a single solitary white chip — and there’s 
Jacarilla! ” 

“Bah. He ain’t the devil. A steel-jacket rifle bullet will 
drop him quick as anybody else. I took you on and kept you 
on at good wages, loafing round here all this time. Now, 
just when I can use you, you try to quit. How would a 
thousand strike you? Cash down as soon as we get 
Jacarilla? ” 

“You — you’d go after him? 99 

“What else?” 

The big man’s jaw came together like a steel trap. His 
lips thinned in a grim smile. As Redeye had said, he had 
stacks of blue chips wagered on the game — all the many 
thousands that he had put into the Kay Kay, all his chances 
of revenge upon Howbert and Tyrrel, all his hopes of winning 
his wife to be his wife. 

Flight might possibly save him from the penitentiary. But 
flight would spell confession. He would become a hunted 
fugitive, without fortune or friends. That was far worse 
than the risk of death while fighting for his all. The thing 
for a bulldogger to do is take the bull by the horns. 

“ I’m going to get that old wolf, Red — and you and Butch 
are going along. Take your choice. The chance to win a 
thousand, or-” 

“Fat chance!” muttered Butch. 

“Fatter than your chance to get out of this corral alive 
if you quit on me.” 

Welsh was in earnest and looked it. 

“What’s your layout?” Redeye grumbled his submission. 

“First, we’ll go look. You pair of scared rabbits didn’t 
stop to see which side they turned off the road. Instead of 




A Sliver of Steel 


309 


going up the arroyo, they may have swung to the left. 
Plenty of cover there. It’s reasonable to suppose they came 
back at you, not because they found the steers, but because 
old Hack suspected the trap and circled till he saw your 
horses. If they didn’t find the steers, all we need do is keep 
the bunch hid till the hair starts growing.” 

The possibility enheartened both would-be quitters. They 
rode off with their master almost in good spirits. But the 
cheerfulness lasted only until they reached the arroyo. One 
look at the tracks in the bed of the arroyo told the story. 
Redeye turned green. 

Welsh was the son of his father. He forced his compan¬ 
ions to trail with him all the way up to the bowl, so that he 
might make absolutely certain. Then, at Redeye’s nervous 
suggestion that they strike southeast across the mesa fox 
Lincoln County, he burst into grim laughter. 

“ It ain’t so funny as all that,” said Butch. “ You can’t 
get away with rustling so easy now’days. They’ll give us 
five to ten years in the pen.” 

“Us?” Welsh affected great astonishment. “What 
d’you mean— us? Get wise. Don’t you savvy we’ve got’em 
where we want ’em? Roped, hog-tied, sewed up in a sack! 
They came to the ranch to put in a complaint about the Kay 
Kay drifting feeders in on their range — which is my range. 
They tell about back-trailing those steers home to us.” 

“ ’Struth,” said Butch. “ I seen the whole bunch heading 
for the upper water-hole.” 

“You did not,” contradicted Welsh. “Here’s the bunch 
they brought — Lazy S Bar feeders, branded KK by Slick 
Dick and the Sneaky Snake, and planted on our range so they 
can go and swear out a perjured charge of rustling against 
me.” 

Butch stared, mouth agape. Redeye was nimbler of wit. 

“Judas!” he gasped. 



310 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“Here’s the three of us to swear to it,” went on Welsh. 
“ Three against their two. Haven’t we found their tracks in 
the arroyo? Didn’t you and Butch see the steers come 
down the ravine — and see that pair of sneaking rustlers 
sneak out of the arroyo later on? Didn’t you, Red, come in 
to warn me last night? Didn’t I ride out with you and make 
sure, and this morning didn’t they fire at you both, without 
provocation, when I left you to watch them and they tried 
to rustle a bunch of fifty steers?” 

“Judas priest!” Redeye gave voice to his admiration. 
“ Mat, when it comes to lying, you’re in the blue-ribbon class. 
Only thing, they give you just as many years for perj’ry.” 

“ Give the Lazy S Bar, you mean. Only two of that outfit; 
three of us. Colorow is an unknown. The oaths of you two 
will out-weigh his. Mine will out-weigh Jacarilla’s. I stand 
a sight higher than an old scoundrel known all over the state 
for his tricky rustling, his picking up of mavericks, his brand 
blotting. They’re the ones apt to land in the pen for perjury 
and conspiracy against me. Nobody ever got anything on 
me. I’ve never even been charged with putting my brand on 
a maverick. What’s more, I’m a partner in the Kay Kay. 
My wife is the daughter of Apache Keith and sister of Don 
Keith.” 

Redeye drew in a full breath. 

“Layout begins to look good to me. What’s the play?” 

“ We’ve got the cards stacked on them, boys. It’s a cinch. 
All we’ve got to do is stick on, and we won’t get spilled. 
That means you’ve got to get the facts clear in your think- 
tanks and hang onto them through thick and thin. Varia¬ 
tion of the trimmings between our testimony will strengthen 
the points we all swear to the same. Savvy ? ” 

“ Sure. We’re wised up on that. Butch and me alibied 
Slim out of that horse-stealing charge last spring.” 

“We’ll make a go of this case. It’ll be three against two 





A Sliver of Steel 


311 


at the worst — and maybe three against none. It’s our 
business to see they get what’s coming to them for rustling. 
We’ll shoot first, and let the lawyers cross-question the re¬ 
maining witnesses. Now, as to that bunch of fifty steers 
they tried to rustle on their way back. Come to think, they 
succeeded. Before morning you two’ll push the bunch over 
to the far side of the mesa.” 

Butch roused from his daze. 

“ How ’bout you ? I ain’t hankering to run up against 
Hack How, all alone with Butch, day or night.” 

“That’s the work cut out for you. Mine is to hit into 
Socorro and round up a posse.” 

The word gave Redeye a bad taste in his mouth. He spat. 

“ Posse! Le’s leave the sheriff’s office outen this game.” 

“Too bad the sheriff is away,” replied Welsh. “I guess, 
though, Bud will do at a pinch — Bud and a keen little posse 
hand-picked by me. That will help make sure that Colorow 
and the Sneaky Snake are saved from perjuring themselves.” 

“ How if Glass-Eye comes jogging home ’long with them? ” 

Welsh’s thick body stiffened. His blue eyes appeared to 
film over and darken with muddy blotches. After a pause 
so long that it set Redeye to fidgeting, the schemer spoke in a 
hoarse, low voice: 

“ If anybody gets caught in company with a pair of 
notorious rustlers, and if he happens to stop a bullet, it’s his 
own fault. They’ll be men in that posse who don’t know 
him by sight.” 

Redeye could see as far through a hole in a grindstone as 
could some others. 

“ I’m on, Mat. If it’s a mis-fire, we might’s well die as a 
old sheep as a lamb. He ain’t married. That means his 
third the Kay Kay ’ll go to your missus. Only thing, I take 
it she ain’t easy rode.” 

“ I’ll break her soon enough,” muttered Welsh. “ Soon as 



312 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


they’re all out of the way, I’ll break her! Get those steers 
across the mesa tonight, or I’ll skin you both alive! ” 

He wheeled his horse down the arroyo and spurred him into 
a dead run. 

By the time he neared the ranch, the horse was staggering. 
The out-ridden beast fell a dozen jumps short of the garage. 
As he went down, Welsh leaped over his head and ran forward 
to the garage door. He had run the big car out into the 
road when old Jake came limping to see what was the matter. 

“Tell ’em at the house, Jake,” he shouted. “We caught 
the Lazy S Bar bosses rustling. I’m going for the sheriff.” 

The car roared off down the road in a swirl of dust. Be¬ 
fore hurrying to the casa Jake slipped off the bridle and cut 
the cinch strap of Welsh’s saddle, to ease the wheezing wind- 
broken horse. 

Welsh reached Socorro and was talking to Bud in the 
outer room of the sheriff’s office, when the telegram from the 
Lazy S Bar was delivered. Bud signed for it. Welsh’s 
mind was running on high. He suspected the contents of the 
message. At his insistence, Bud opened the envelope. The 
result was a return message sent to the Lazy S Bar in the 
name of the sheriff. 

During the night Welsh returned to the ranch with only 
three men beside Bud. Really reliable gunmen were hard to 
find on such short notice. He felt some doubts even of the 
three, but had taken them on Bud’s recommendation. Better 
than an outside posse would be one composed for the most 
part of Kay Kay men. That would involve Gerda and Keith 
in whatever should happen. 

At the ranch he wakened every man in the bunk room and 
recited the “facts” about Tyrrel and Howbert’s rustling. 
Afterwards Bud deputized all — even Cookie — to be ready 
for service in the morning. 

Welsh then went across to the main part of the casa. Late 




A Sliver of Steel 


313 


as was the hour, he found Gerda and Pilar waiting for him 
in the sala. Both were greatly wrought up, but Gerda 
managed to make a show of coolness. When Welsh came in, 
she restrained her cousin’s excited outcry, and asked in a 
steady but oddly flat voice: 

“What’s all this about Lazy S Bar rustling?” 

With a savage exultance of look and tone that gave a 
strong semblance of truth to his words, Welsh told over the 
“ facts ” of how he and Redeye and Butch had uncovered the 
treacherous conspiracy and cattle stealing of the Lazy S Bar 
owners. 

Before he had finished, Pilar’s black eyes were wide with 
horror. How foolish of her querido amigo to permit himself 
to be so easily caught! But Gerda only smiled ironically. 

“ It won’t hold water, Mat. If the Kay Kay were all 
yours, and Jacarilla without a partner, you might be able to 
convince me he’s gone back to his old ways. But he has a 
partner who wouldn’t even allow their brand to be put on a 
doubtful maverick.” 

“That’s your opinion.” 

“ It certainly is. What’s more, everybody knows that old 
Hack How hasn’t rustled a calf for over twenty years. I 
doubt if he was any worse than a lot of others, even in the 
old days. Main difference was that your dad and the other 
big outfits that sided with him, cleaned out the nesters and 
took over every head in their little herds; but Hack was one 
nester that came back at them and got away with it.” 

“Well, I’m telling you he won’t get away with it this time. 
The old wolf has put his paw into the trap at last — and that 
slick young coyote is caught with him. I’ve got the evidence, 
and I’ve got the law on my side, and now I’m going to 
get them sure as shooting.” 

The ominous emphasis on the last word struck into Gerda’s 
heart like a knife thrust. Yet she forced back the cry that 



314 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


sought to burst from her tightening throat. 

“You don’t mean to — how about Donnie?” 

“ That’s one reason I want to strike as quick as possible. 
If they get wind of our coming, they’re apt to hold him as 
hostage.” 

Quickly as Welsh looked away, Gerda perceived the muddy 
spots that blotched the steel-blue of his eyes. This time she 
could not choke back the cry: 

“Oh ... . You — you mean — hold him-” 

44 Yes; same as that yellow-streaked Slick Dick held him up, 
in the patio — to stop our bullets.” 

Gerda clapped a hand over Pilar’s mouth to stifle her 

scream. 

“Be still! They’ll never use Donnie for a sandbag. So 
you’re going to clean them up, Mat? You have it all framed 
to prove you’re the top man. I’ll wait and see which end of 
the horn you come out. When do you start?” 

Calmly as she spoke, Welsh also was on his guard. His 
sideward glance caught the glint under her lowering lashes. 
He smiled. 

44 At sunrise. Plenty of time. We don’t want to jump 
their camp until after dark tomorrow night. Want to come 
along and see the fun?” 

44 I’d like to, Mat, but — what would people say?” The 
girl put up her hand to cover a yawn. 44 Come, Pilar. If 
I’m to see them off, we’ll have to go to bed.” 

44 Pleasant dreams! ” said Welsh. 

He walked heavily out across the veranda and along the 
stone flags of the path. Under the black shadow of the pear 
tree he stopped and pulled off his boots. 

Pilar’s door stood wide open. She was kneeling before her 
little shrine. As she straightened to cross herself, her eyes 
lifted their Heaven-appealing gaze as high as the ancient 
altar pieces at the foot of the Holy Virgin. In the polished 




A Sliver of Steel 


315 


silver bowl surface of the chalice she saw mirrored the outline 
of the doorway .... out in the blackness of the cor¬ 
ridor, around the edge of the door frame, was peering a big 
dark-flushed, devilish face. 

Too terrified even to scream, the girl flung up her hands to 
the Virgin for protection. It was a moment natural to a de¬ 
vout worshipper. Her pallid face and glaring eyes were not 
visible from the corridor doorway. The frightful face dis¬ 
appeared .... a vague form glided aslant the cor¬ 
ridor towards Gerda’s door. 

Pilar’s trembling hands clutched at the edge of the shrine 
niche. The fingers of her right hand came down upon the 
crucifix hilt of the little Spanish dagger. The touch roused 
her like the sear of white-hot steel — it sent a fiery flame o? 
courage flaming through her terror-palsied body. Her 
fingers clutched the hilt of the blade — this was the Holy 
Mother’s answer to her appeal! 

The prowler had pushed in the ponderous, old iron-clamped 
oak door of Gerda’s room with his left hand. He stood on 
the threshold, peering around the half-lighted boudoir. In 
under his thick arm darted a little fury, who whirled and flew 
at him, screaming and striking. His up-jerked elbow barely 
saved his throat from the stab of the blade. 

He roared and hurled the girl across the room with the out- 
sweep of his slashed arm. As she fell stunned, Gerda sprang 
in through the doorway of her bedroom. She saw Pilar — 
she saw Welsh, half-turned, in the act of locking the door. 
Midway between them, the lamplight from her bedroom 
glinted on the blade of the little dagger. She rushed to 
catch it up. 

Welsh pocketed the key and took a step towards her, his 
gaze fixed upon the loveliness of her snowy shoulders. 

“Good evening, Mrs. Welsh. Glad you’re taking it 
quietly. Might have known you would. You’re no squally 



316 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


little greaser wildcat. I don’t mind saying I’m proud of my 
wife.” 

“I can’t say the same of my husband,” rejoined Gerda, her 
head high and eyes blazing with green fire. “ Rustler! Liar! 
Sneak! Vamos!” 

His thin lips twisted in a grin of mingled rage and gloating. 

“ That settles it, Mrs. Welsh. I came to gentle. I’ll stay 
to break.” 

“No. You will not dare! I’m the daughter of Apache 
Keith.” 

“ You’re my wife.” 

“Have I denied it? But-” 

He took a step forward, his eyes aflame. She raised the 
little blade and put the point to her breast. 

“ I told you, Mat, you would first have to prove yourself 
the better man. You should know me better than to think 
you can break me. I am not afraid of you, and I am not 
afraid of death. I shall not run like a scared rat in a cage — 
nor shall I lower myself to struggle against you. I am a 
strong girl, but you are a very strong man. Unless I should 
happen to get in a lucky stroke with this toy. Pah! The 
very thought of your hands .... one step nearer, 
and I drive home the point.” 

There was no mistaking her tone, the proud poise of her 
gold-glinting head, the look in her beautiful eyes. He knew 
her far too well to doubt for an instant. She was as quick 
or quicker than himself. Even had he been close, he could 
not have hoped to catch her wrist in time. To jump in 
would mean to lose her forever. 

Even at that, he might have risked it — only she had re¬ 
minded him of his chance to make good. All would not be 
lost if he should back off now. On the contrary, he had only 
to go and rid himself of the other man, then come and claim 
her. She prided herself on keeping her word. But he had 



A Sliver of Steel 


317 


not forgotten that look in her eyes, down in the sala. 

“All right,” he muttered. “We’ll postpone it. Don’t 
get nervous. I’m just going to sidle round and make sure 
you’ll be all snug and cozy.” 

He circled to the left and went in through the other rooms 
of the suite. All faced on the outer wall of the casa. The 
narrow casement windows had been built to hold out Apache 
war parties. The thick iron bars were set solidly in the 
masonry. The only doors were between the rooms. None 
opened into the corridor. As he came out, Pilar began to 
moan with returning consciousness. He picked her up, not 
ungently, and carried her in to the bed. Gerda followed, 
always keeping beyond reach of his powerful hands. 

“ Sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt her. But that scratch.” 
He looked down at the reddened slash in his sleeve. *“ Better 
see to her. I’ll leave now — to make good. I’m not going to 
ride him. I’m going to ride over him! No use your screech¬ 
ing. Everybody’s fast asleep .... and out of ear¬ 
shot, anyhow.” 

He slammed shut the bedroom door and locked it on the 
outside. 

Gerda whirled about to the bed. She bent low to peer 
anxiously into Pilar’s face. The black eyes were wide open. 
They stared up at her dazedly. 

‘Nina!” she cried. “Tell me — tell me! Are you hurt?” 

Pilar half turned, sat up, and suddenly sprang from the 
bed, her eyes glaring with horror. 

“ He .... what — what did he-” 

“Gone away — gone!” 

Out went Gerda’s arms, to sweep up the little trembler and 
crush her in a hug of passionate love and gratitude. 

“You darling — you brave, brave little darling!” 

It did not seem possible — hateful, haughty, contemptuous 
Gerda, hugging her, calling her sweet names! The dazed 





318 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


girl could not believe her little ears .... yet it really 
was true. Gerda really was squeezing her tight, kissing her, 
thanking her — the proud Gerda thanking her! 

Pilar burst into a happy hysterical storm of tears. 



CHAPTER XXXVII 


DEAD MEN TELE NO TALES 

O VER across the Chupadera, at the ruined pueblo, Billy 
Bull came back from the railroad, an hour before 
dawn, with telegrams from the four sheriffs to whom messages 
had been sent. Two said no action would be taken until 
assurance was received that a warrant had been sworn out 
against Mat Welsh. Another said that notices of the reward 
offered for the capture of the alleged rustlers would be posted 
up and published. 

The third telegram, sent over the name of the sheriff of 
Socorro County, stated that a posse would start direct for 
the Kay Kay ranch at sunrise, and ordered the Lazy S Bar 
to wait for the second posse that was to come around by 
train. 

“ Wants to nail that five hun’erd reward all his ownself, 
heh? ” said Howbert. “ Well, seeing as how Dick shies that 
carcass delicious, we’ll say whoa to ourselves.” 

“1 shall start at once, as planned,” replied Keith. “ It 
will be all the better. My return alone may throw off their 
guard — if they have not already skipped the country.” 

All three had turned out of their blankets and started to 
pull on their boots as soon as the telegrams came. Tyrrel 
buckled on the old Chavez belt. 

“ Come on, dad. Let’s leave orders for the boys to follow 
with the posse. We can go ahead to the far edge of the 
mesa with Mr. Keith, and see what’s to be seen.” 

Howbert groaned and straightened up to bark at Billy 
Bull: 

“You no-’count kid buckaroo! You gone plumb deef? 
319 


320 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Hustle out and saddle up and — wait a minute — roust out 
that lazy cook and tell him to get a move on, or I’ll jam his 
cabeza into the bean kettle.” 

Billy hustled out, grinning. To all friends and hired help, 
old Hack How’s bark was worse than his bite. 

In the first gray of dawn the three riders angled down into 
the west valley and slanted across to the break in the mesa 
side, up which wound the cattle trail. 

The climbing was slow work. But up on top the pace be¬ 
came fairly brisk. At last they came to the far side of the 
great mesa, where they could look down on the western 
plateau. Howbert uncased an old pair of field glasses and 
swept the lower ground. Neither he nor Tyrrel nor Keith 
could see any men, afoot or horseback. 

The scattered bunches of grazing cattle, however, proved 
too much for Jacarilla Howbert. 

“ I ain’t going to set here all day like a bump on a log. 
You can do as you’ve a mind to, son. I’m going down with 
Don to show him them rustled steers.” 

Tyrrel’s reply was to pull his rifle from its sheath under his 
stirrup flap. Instead of leading on down the beaten trail, 
Howbert headed to the left, along a ridge of bare flat lime¬ 
stone ledges. Beyond the ledges he pointed out a half-broken 
cattle trail that slanted into the head of a ravine. This was 
the way along which the rustlers had turned off the main trail 
with their stolen steers and taken them down into the rimmed 
bowl for branding. 

The ravine was so steep that in places the horses had to 
slide on their haunches. But all reached the foot without 
mishap. Near the bottom, as Howbert had surmised on his 
first coming to the bowl, a little seepage spring trickled from 
the rocks. It oozed through a string of muddy nose holes 
and disappeared under more rocks. 

A few yards below, half a dozen steers were coming up to 



Dead Men Tell No Tales 321 


the spring. Being thirsty, they held their ground long 
enough for Keith to get a clear look at the second brands. 

“ Fresh! ” he exclaimed. 44 If only we could catch the 
skunks with their saddle-irons hot! Mat’s oath will carry 
weight. He may be able even to alibi Red and Butch. We 
have only circumstantial evidence — wait. The horse he rode 
yesterday has a split hoof. His off hind shoe is clamped 
across.” 

“We noticed the print,” said Tyrrel. 

“ That gives us fair proof. I’ll ride down the arroyo, so 
that I too can testify to it. Perhaps I can identify the 
tracks of the other horses.” 

44 Go ahead,” agreed Howbert. 44 Dick and me best cut 
across here to the trail, and mebbe slide along under cover 
to them rocks where Butch and Red held the sack. Good 
place to hold-up till our boys and the second posse comes 
along.” 

Keith moistened the top of his head from the hat sponge 
and turned his horse towards the lower end of the bowl. 

44 Hold on,” said Howbert. 44 That there grazing proposi¬ 
tion— you tell Miss Gerdy not to worry ’bout your feeders, 
nor your cows, neither. I ain’t forgot your dad once sided 
me. Just soon ’s we get Mat hog-tied, you start trailing 
your cattle ’crost the mesa. I figger we can take care of two 
thousand head, or there’bouts, till you get enough grass and 
water to home. ’Tain’t going to cost you and Miss Gerdy 
nary a cent, neither. What say, son?” 

Tyrrel was no less astonished than Keith over the munifi¬ 
cent offer. He could no more than get out a laconic, 44 Suits 
me! ” 

Keith could not even say that much. He gripped the old 
man’s gloved hand and rode off hastily for fear of giving 
away to his feelings. 

As he parted from Tyrrel and Howbert, a one-eyed watcher 



322 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


slid to the foot of the arroyo bank at the lower end of the 
bowl, jumped upon his horse, and rode hard down the bed of 
the wash. 

When Keith came down the arroyo from farther up, his 
thoughts were intent upon pleasant calculations of what 
Howbert’s generous offer would mean to the Kay Kay. In¬ 
stead of heavy losses he could see a fair chance of making 
even some gains, in the event that the next season’s market 
should prove favorable for heavy steers. 

His mind was so engrossed upon this happy prospect and 
all it would mean to the Kay Kay that he failed to notice 
the fresh horse tracks. In the dry gravel these tracks were 
hard to distinguish from the other recent ones. He did not 
push his horse out of a jog. 

Redeye soon came to where the arroyo twisted close to 
the herd trail. He spurred his horse to the top of the bank 
and raced up the ridge to where Butch was watching from 
behind a mass of rocks. He waved and pointed backwards, 
and galloped on at headlong speed down the far side of the 
hill. 

A mile away, beyond the crossing of the trail and the 
round-up road, Welsh, on the fretful, side-jumping Lobo, 
was jogging along with Bud, a short distance in the lead 
of the posse. He had things to say to his deputy-sheriff 
friend that were not for the ears of the others. In the posse 
were the three gunmen from Socorro and eight men of the 
Kay Kay, among them Gailor and Cookie. But old Jake, 
though deputized with the others, was missing. 

Welsh was first to see the riders come galloping over 
Butch’s watch hill. He pointed him out to Bud. 

<c Something’s doing. That must be Red or Butch. I’ll 
ride ahead and find out what’s up. Bring the boys on easy, 
unless I signal.” 

He not only gave the fretting Lobo his head, but spurred 



Dead Men Tell No Tales 


323 


him with wanton cruelty. Fast as Redeye’s horse was com¬ 
ing, Lobo met him a good deal more than half way. He 
had managed to get the bit in his teeth. His maddened 
rush carried him many lengths past the up-reining Redeye. 
Welsh at last brought him to a halt with a jerk that almost 
broke his jaw. 

The high-tempered thoroughbred belonged to Gerda and 
he hated no rider more than his present one. In the opinion 
of Welsh, these were alike good reasons for mercilessly 
spurring and quirting the roan until Redeye hurried to them. 

“ What’s doing?” he shouted. “Stand still, you crazy 
devil, or I’ll yank your head off! Cough up, Red.” 

“ He’s coming — Glass-Eyes — down the wash — alone! ” 
panted Redeye. “Him and them-” 

“Who?” 

“ Old Hack and Tyrrel — I seen ’em come down the ravine. 
They shown him the steers. Cut ’cross towards the trail. 
He’s coming down the wash.” 

Welsh looked back at the posse, nearly half a mile away. 

“ Come on,” he shouted. “ It’s made to order for us. 
The ridge’ll be between.” 

They raced up the ridge side. Lobo leaped enough into 
the lead for Welsh to rein in at the top and call out a com¬ 
mand to Butch: 

“ When I wave my hat, signal the bunch and come a-run- 
ning.” 

In the bottom, at the foot of the ridge, he and Redeye 
jumped from their horses and ran forward to where they 
could peer up the arroyo to the first bend. They were none 
too soon for the purpose they had in mind. A wait of a few 
moments — just long enough for their hands to steady; then 
Keith appeared around the bend on his leisurely jog-trotting 
horse. 

If it was to come to hanging, Welsh was determined that 




324 _ Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


more than one rope should be stretched. He waited for the 
roar of Redeye’s rifle before twitching the trigger of his own. 
Though the delay was only for the fraction of a second, 
Keith was already pitching out of his saddle when Welsh’s 
rifle roared. In his fall, his right foot caught in the stirrup. 

The two rifles roared a second time during the less than 
two seconds that the horse dragged his master. One of the 
bullets struck short and either glanced against the horse or 
knocked a chip of gravel against him. He side-jumped, 
jerking Keith’s foot out of the stirrup. Keith’s body fell 
limp — it lay inert. 

44 He’s got his! ” shouted Welsh, and he waved his hat. 
44 Round to the bend now. Hot-foot it! Smoke ’em up — 
smoke ’em up! ” 

They ran along the arroyo bank to the bend, firing their 
rifles ahead of them. Butch galloped down the hill, shooting 
into the air as fast as he could pull trigger. 

When Bud and the posse raced up over the round of the 
ridge, they saw the three leaders lying on the edge of the 
arroyo and firing into the distance. With an order for his 
companions to keep up the fire, Welsh ran back to meet the 
down-charge of the posse. On the way he looked to make 
certain that Keith had not moved. The body was lying 
exactly as it had fallen. 

He ran on and rushed towards Lobo to grasp the trailing 
bridle reins. Lobo whirled and kicked. It was no time to 
fool with a fractious horse. Welsh sheered off and flung 
himself upon Butch’s broncho. He waved on the posse with 
wild beckonings and shouts. 

44 Come along! come along! Ride, boys, ride! Up the 
arroyo! They’ve shot Don— shot Mr. Keith! Trailed 
him ’cross the mesa. Red saw ’em chasing him. They shot 
him just as we came at ’em — shot him, and ran for it!” 

“Where’s — Mr. Keith?” shouted back Gailor. 



Dead Men Tell No Tales 


325 


“In the wash. Come on — wait! You, Bud, take a 
bunch on ’long the trail. They may’ve cut up out the wash 
and across. Rest of you, follow me.” 

As the posse split in two, Redeye and Butch came wheez¬ 
ing. Redeye was on his horse in a twinkling. But he had no 
relish for riding up the arroyo past that lax outstretched 
body. He spurred his horse in among Bud’s sideward veer¬ 
ing bunch. 

The others galloped after Welsh, to plunge down the 
arroyo bank — all except Butch. He was left alone, trying 
to catch Lobo. Welsh led the chase up the arroyo at a 
dead run. All the others followed at the same hot pace. 

But as the bunch raced past the riderless horse and his 
prone master, first Gailor, then Cookie, drew rein. They 
came to a halt and jumped off to run and look at the body. 
It lay face down. They turned it over. It was utterly 
flaccid. The face was a ghastly sallow gray. 

Strangely, the big shell-rimmed spectacles were still in 
place and unbroken. The horse had dragged the body only 
three or four steps. The glitter of the sunrays on the 
glasses gave an uncanny effect, as of brilliant eyes flashing 
behind them. But the kindly gray eyes were closed. Gailor 
passed his hand in front of his face. 

“ Shirt red, and look at the hole ’longside his dome! Both 
got him — the dirty rustling skunks!” 

Fat Cookie went to pick up the big sombrero. He care¬ 
fully dusted it and placed it gently over the ghastly face 
and the reddened crown of the bald head. 

“ C’mon,” he choked. “ Let’s go get them ’sassins.” 

They galloped off after the others. 

Meantime Butch was having a lively minute. After 
several jumps,, he managed to clutch the reins of Lobo’s 
bridle. The angered thoroughbred struck with his fore 
hoofs and whirled to kick. In the scuffle Butch lost his rifle. 



326 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Yet with a wild hop-mount, he managed to make the stirrup 
and flung himself into the saddle. 

Unlike Redeye, he was too callous to dread passing that 
which lay down in the bed of the arroyo. But he was not 
given choice of parties. As his leg swung over the cantle of 
the saddle, Lobo caught the bit in his teeth and bolted up 
the road. 

Never before in his life, not even in a quarter-dash race, 
had Butch ridden so fast. The maddened thoroughbred ran 
even swifter than he had run with Welsh. He rapidly nar¬ 
rowed the distance between himself and Bud’s half of the 
posse. While they were still a little short of the rocks where 
his rider and Redeye had lain in wait for Tyrrel and Howbert 
he came tearing past the out-strung bunch. 

Bud and Redeye, in the lead, were almost opposite the 
near end of the rocks when Lobo shot past them. Redeye’s 
horse lunged after him. At the same moment their riders 
hurled down out of their saddles, Butch sideways, Redeye 
backwards. As they fell, the crack of two rifle shots came 
from the midst of the ledges. 

With a yell, Bud flung himself forward and down on the 
left side of his horse’s neck. On the way, his hat was 
knocked off by a bullet. He swung his horse off to the left 
of the trail, towards the nearest cover. The rest of the men 
scattered out after him like a covey of frightened quail. 

Some of the party were less expert in hiding behind their 
horses. They could easily have been shot out of their 
saddles. But at the moment when they were most exposed 
to the rifles on the rocks a quick succession of shots burst 
out from the direction of the arroyo. The rattle quickened 
into a ragged volley. 

From what Redeye had told him, Welsh had no thought 
of finding T 3 r rrel and Howbert short of the mesa top. He 
felt certain that, having shown the rustled steers to Keith, 



Dead Men Tell No Tales 


327 


they had back-trailed to wait for the mythical second posse 
of the sheriff of Socorro County. Yet he led his followers 
on at top speed, not only to get them farther away from 
that prone body and possible awkward questions regarding 
it, but also to keep the minds of all inflamed with the heat of 
the man-hunt. 

The reports of the first two rifle shots found him only a 
little way below a point opposite the rock ledges. He made 
a flying leap from Butch’s broncho and ran to climb the 
bank. The nearest of the following riders rushed to scram¬ 
ble up after him. 

He topped the bank. Two horses stood in the angle of 
the ledges where Tyrrel had seen the horses of Butch and 
Redeye. Even at that distance, the high withers, sloped 
hindquarters and sagged head of Ante were unmistakable. 
Welsh glimpsed a hat crown above and to the left of the 
horses. He clapped the butt of his automatic rifle to his 
shoulder and fired as fast as he could pull the trigger. 

Each man, as he flung himself up over the edge of the bank 
joined in the burst of shots. But in a few seconds came an¬ 
swering shots, well aimed. One of the Socorro gunmen 
rolled back into the arroyo with a shattered shoulder. A 
steel-j acketed bullet seared the side of Welsh’s thick neck, 
under his notched ear. He flattened behind a big yucca to 
reload. 

Two of the other men found yuccas. The rest slid back 
into the gully. Welsh bellowed commands down to them: 

“ Scatter! Up-wash — down it! Crawl out. Surround 
the bloody murderers!” 

Gailor, last but Cookie to arrive, scrambled over the edge 
of the bank in a white rage. He and old Jake had taught 
little Donnie Keith how to sit his first horse. He stood 
straight up and charged towards the rocks. Within a dozen 
paces he pitched on his face, shot through the leg. But no 



328 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


second shot struck him as he rolled from the open spot where 
he had fallen to the shelter of a yucca. 

“ Ease off. Save your cartridges,” Welsh ordered his two 
wildly firing companions. “We can’t flush ’em from here. 
Just keep pegging away enough to hold ’em close. I’m going 
to back down the arroyo and work out up that last side 
gully.” 



CHAPTER XXXVIII 


MEDDLING MAIDS 

A LL night and most of the morning the two imprisoned 
. g ir ls had worked, turn about, with the little dagger. 
The old casa had been built to resist attack on the inside as 
well as from the outside. Even the doors between the rooms 
of the outer suites were massive. There were no thin panels, 
easy to cut through. 

Whenever Gerda could no longer hold the dagger, Pilar 
scratched away at the hard oak. She could do little, with 
her small wrists and hands. But while she worked, Gerda 
regained strength for renewed efforts. Hours passed before 
the little blade cut through the thick oak, all around the 
heavy wrought-iron lock. 

With a heave of her strong white shoulder, Gerda shoved 
the door wide open. They hurried into her boudoir with the 
lamp. The corridor door was far more ponderous. It was 
studded and clamped with iron, and its lock was larger. But 
Gerda clenched her teeth and went at it. 

The end of the dagger blade had become dulled. Between 
Gerda’s fierce spurts of hacking and gnawing at the door 
Pilar whetted the blade on the stone of the casement window 
sill, using cold cream for oil. After a time Gerda, in her 
over-eagerness, snapped off the thin blade close to the hilt. 
She then had to work without the leverage of the handle 
and hold the blade wrapped in a cloth. This retarded the 
already tediously slow gnawing of the point into the tough 
hard oak. 

Dawn came, then full daylight. Gerda worked on with 
desperate energy. Each time that she sank down exhausted, 

329 


330 


Tyrrel of the Cotv Country 


Pilar ran to grind the dulled blade point on the casement 
stone. Every little while she screamed for help, out between 
the heavy bars of the window. But none of the servants or 
ranch hands came to release their mistresses. 

The morning wore on, and still Gerda gnawed and gouged 
and scraped with the broken blade. She had cut through 
the door above and below the huge old Spanish lock. She 
now was cutting down from one jagged slit to the other. 

Pilar dressed for horseback, and laid out beside the door 
her cousin’s boots and riding skirt, blouse and hat. Sight 
of the costume enheartened Gerda. She attacked the oaken 
enemy with renewed vigor. The little blade gnawed deeper 
and deeper. It penetrated through the thickness of the oak. 
And then, when it should have thrust out at the other side, 
its point screeched upon iron. 

Too late, Gerda remembered that the outside plate of the 
lock extended farther than the one inside. Its end was 
riveted to a pair of inside studs. Yet, even then, she did not 
break down and give way to despair. She ran into her bed¬ 
room, flung clothes, mattress and springs from her metal bed, 
and yanked out one of the side bars. 

Driven endwise time after time against the lock with all 
the girl’s strength, the heavy bar at last burst loose the lock- 
plate rivets. Gerda clutched the side of the cut with her 
blistered finger tips and pulled. The door swung inward. 

Pilar ran for the servants while Gerda dressed. Welsh 
had locked the two housemaids and the woman cook in their 
quarters, but the keys had not been taken from the locks. 
Pilar released the frightened women, and ran on through the 
wing of the casa to the men’s quarters. Bunk room, mess 
room, and kitchen, all were empty. 

She reached the stable, panting from exertion and excite¬ 
ment. A number of bronchos had been left in the horse 
corral. She was trying to rope one of them, when Gerda, 



Meddling Maids 


331 


rushed from the casa gateway. Unlike Pilar, haste had not 
flurried her. She carried canteens and saddlebags. She 
dashed into the stable and flung open the door of Lobo’s box 
stall. 

The roan was gone. But as the girl whirled to dash on 
through the stable, a cracked voice squeaked from the far 
end of the stall: 

“HoP on, Miss Gerdy! This here gosh-rotted hogging¬ 
string -” 

She dropped canteens and saddlebags and darted in to 
drag old Jake out from under the manger. While she 
drew his jack knife from the pocket of his overalls and cut 
the hogging-string, he told how Welsh had bound him hand 
and foot because he refused to join the posse without orders 
from her. 

Stiff as was the old wrangler from his bonds, and weary 
as were Gerda’s arms and wrists and hands, only a very few 
minutes passed before three horses were roped and saddled. 
The freed prisoners went galloping away on the round-up 
road. 

Gerda had thought of the posse as already up on the mesa. 
But according to Jake, Welsh had not started at dawn or 
even at sunrise. The posse had been gone less than an hour. 
He had overheard Welsh tell Bud that they must not reach 
the far side of the mesa before evening. 

Gerda’s dread-darkened eyes flashed and sparkled like 
powdered emerald. 

“Cherk up, nina!" she cried. “You hear that. We’ll 
be in time. Up on the Chupadera we’ll ride round them and 
strike down to Tabru in time to warn Dick and Donnie.” 

The assurance only partly calmed Pilar’s fears. 

“But Mat will attack, just the same. Voder de Dios! 
There will be fighting! ” 

“Never think it, darling. Most the posse are our own 




332 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


men. Donnie and I’ll back-trail from the Lazy S Bar camp 
and head off the attack. You see, it’ll be all right. And 
there’s no need of your coming, sweetheart. You’ll only be 
in the way. Better turn back. You’re all worn out.” 

“No, no — let me come too! Please! Please!” 

A lump rose in Gerda’s throat as she saw again the slight 
form of the young girl, hurled across the room with stunning 
violence — saw her little dagger on the floor and the red 
slash of the blade across WelsB’s arm. 

“You ferocious, angelic wildcat kitten! Come, then, if 
you wish, darling!” 

They swept along the half-broken road at a steady lope 
that ate up the miles. Because Gerda trusted old Jake’s 
knowledge of what the horses could do even more than her 
own judgment, she permitted him to lead. Pilar brought 
up the rear. 

Jake held to the lope until after they turned into the herd 
trail and came to the rise of the ridge on which Butch had 
kept watch. There, at last, he slackened into a walk. The 
loud beat of the hoofs on the hard-baked ground ceased. 

The old wrangler was a little deaf, and excitement made 
Pilar heedless. Gerda was first to hear the distant shots. 
Crying out for Pilar to turn back, she spurred her horse up 
the slope at a gallop. The hard-pressed broncho soon came 
snorting and puffing to the round of the ridge. He raced on 
up to the top. 

At once Gerda heard the rifle shots even above the clatter 
of her horse’s hoofs on the stones. The direction of the 
shots drew her eyes to the rocks rather over half a mile 
ahead. Well out on all sides from the ledges she saw horses 
standing. Though no men were in sight, she instantly 
divined that Welsh and the posse had surrounded and were 
attacking a smaller party. 

Down the hill she raced as fast as her horse could run. 



Meddling Maids 


333 


Jake, spurring over the crest after her, followed at a pace 
hardly less hot. Pilar’s horse was slower. Coming up the 
ridge, she had not been able to get him to go faster than a 
singlefoot. He did not reach the crest until the others were 
half down into the little valley. They were well up the op¬ 
posite rise when he neared the foot of the down-slope. 

He looked off to the right. Instinctively Pilar also 
looked. A riderless horse was plunging up over the edge 
of the arroyo. From the saddlehorn a rope slanted down 
backwards — a taut rope. Pilar’s horse swept on along 
the trail, across the sag of the bottom. But curiosity kept 
the girl’s head twisting around to look. 

The riderless horse was moving slowly forward, dragging 
on the rope. Above the brink of the arroyo bank appeared 
a big Mexican sombrero. 

Pilar pulled her horse around in so narrow a quarter- 
circle that he almost pitched on his shoulder. The other 
horse had stopped. Keith’s body lay outstretched, with the 
feet dangling over the edge of the bank. 

Sobbing with fright, the girl flung herself out of her 
saddle to loosen the rope from under the arms and tug the 
body over, face upwards. She first saw the red blotch on 
the shirt. The off-tilting of the sombrero then showed her 
the blackening red that covered the bald head. 

Down she dropped, to throw herself upon his breast and 
clutch at him with grief-palsied shaking hands. 

“ Oh! oh! Don Senor! my querido! Speak to me! speak 
to me! ” 

No answering word came from the gray lips; no look of 
kindly assurance from the closed eyes. Yet she would not 
believe that the worst could be true. She struggled up to 
run for her canteen. With her slender body she shielded 
his bared head from the burning sunrays, while she bathed 
the long gash in his bare scalp. 



334 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Neither Gerda or Jake had looked back — neither had 
seen the horse come up out of the arroyo. They were al¬ 
ready over the last rise and racing towards the rocks. 

Half way they saw a horse off to the left — Lobo! The 
thoroughbred was quietly cropping grass, all unconcerned 
at the fitful crack of rifles that spoke of deadly menace to 
the fighting humans. 

Only a short distance farther along Welsh leaped up the 
bank of a little gully that ran across the trail and down 
around into the arroyo. He stood in front of the racing 
horses, wildly waving his hat and rifle. 

“ Stop! stop! ” he bellowed. 

At each side of the narrow trail the gully was too wide 
for horses to leap across, yet too narrow at the bottom 
to jump into at a gallop. Lobo would have run right over 
Welsh. The broncho slithered almost to a stop. Before 
Gerda’s quirt and spurs could side-swirl him past the trail- 
blocker, Welsh seized the bridle of the plunging broncho. 
Jake’s horse came to a sudden halt alongside. 

“Let go my bridle!” cried Gerda, her eyes blazing with 
fury. 

“No!” Welsh roared back at her. He glared at Jake. 
“You old rat! Let her loose, did you? I’ll bust every 
bone in your carcass! ” 

“Wait, you bully. Don’t pick on a lame little old crip¬ 
ple. Look here.” Gerda held up her hand to show the 
blistered, bleeding fingers. “ I cut free with the little knife 
that stopped you. Stand clear.” 

She swung up her buckskin-lashed whip of plaited horse¬ 
hair. Welsh’s eyes reddened. 

“ If you hit me, I’ll break you right here and now. Get 
down! For God’s sake, get down! Those skunks — they’ll 
get you too. They’ve got Butch and Red already — and 
Don!” 



Meddling Maids 


335 


“Donnie?” Horror chilled the girl’s rage. But only 
for an instant. “You liar! They’d never shoot Donnie!” 

“ Go and see. He’s lying back there in the arroyo. They 
got him just as we all came running down that ridge on the 
other side.” 

Horror again clutched the girl’s heart. 

“Dead — Donnie dead?” she whispered. 

“Yes. He must have found out about their rustling, 
and tried to get back home. They trailed him and-” 

Gerda flung out her hand towards the rocks. 

“Look! look!” she gasped. “What — what are they 
doing? ” 

With his big hand still clutched tight on her horse’s 
bridle, Welsh turned to stare. Gerda made a fierce gesture 
to old Jake. As he whipped off his horse at the far side, 
Gerda flung herself over into his saddle. Her jabbing spurs 
sent the horse lunging forward. Her quirt slashed across 
Welsh’s face. The horse leaped down into the gully and up 
the other side. 

By the time Welsh thought to vent his rage upon Jake, 
the lame little wrangler was scuttling back along the road 
out of reach. 

Gerda had already covered half the distance to the rocks, 
riding with her right hand raised high overhead. All the 
members of the posse within sight of her suddenly ceased 
firing. 

Above the center of the rocks a hat rose into clear view, 
upthrust on a rifle barrel. A bullet from the far side 
knocked it off the muzzle. But Gerda swerved her horse 
straight towards the spot where the hat had shown. Above 
it a blue neckerchief waved on the rifle barrel. 

Welsh’s bellowed commands to quit firing were being yelled 
on around the circle of attackers. Even the Socorro gun¬ 
men up the arroyo had stopped shooting by the time Gerda 




336 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


spurred her frightened broncho past the bodies of Butch and 
Redeye. She leaped from the broncho and bounded up the 
rock ledges. 

As her head came level with the crest, a bullet from Gailor’s 
rifle knocked off her hat. Utterly regardless of the danger, 
she sprang up on the top ledge, her gold-tinted hair glinting 
in the sun. 

At her feet, in a little pocket amidst the crest rocks, 
crouched the two defenders. Howbert faced the arroyo; 
Tyrrel faced the trail. 

Howbert twisted his scrawny neck around to look over his 
shoulder. His face, always cadaverous, was now outright 
ghastly. He grinned at the wide-eyed girl and jerked his 
head back around to peer through his rock-notch loop-hole 
along the top of his leveled rifle. 

Tyrrel was smiling up at Gerda. He rose to his feet. 

“Glad to see you,” he greeted. “Fine day, but pretty 
warm, don’t you think? If you don’t mind fetching dad a 
drink. Bullet hole through my canteen, and his is drained. 
He’s been-” 

“ You! ” cried Gerda, “ stand there and ioke, when Donnie’s 
killed!” 

Tyrrel’s face went blank with amazement. 

“No — he — it can’t be-” 

“I’ve just learned. Mat told me. You trailed Donnie — 
shot him down!” 

Up came Tyrrel’s hand with the old Chavez revolver. He 
thrust the gold-and-pearl hilt at the girl. 

“If you can believe that of me, Gerda, I don’t want to 
live.” 

Her fingers closed upon the revolver hilt. But her eyes 
were gazing entreatingly into the ruddy brown eyes of Tyrrel. 

“ I knew it, Dick! ” she murmured. “ He lied — I told him 
he lied. But — Donnie? ” 





Meddling Maids 


337 


“ ® od knows! We came over the mesa with him —showed 
im he steers rustled and branded by Welsh. He rode down 
he arroyo to verify Welsh’s horse tracks. We cut over to 
tne trail and down to here.” 

„ Ge n d \r 0 r t 0ff her White silk kerchief and waved it. On 
a “Sides the Kay Kay men began to rise out of their cover. 

Don t shoot, Mr. Howbert,” warned the girl. “ I guar¬ 
antee you a fair trial.” 6 

Wouldn’t mind having a swig of water first, Miss Gerdv,” 
replied the old man. “One them rikeyshied bullets sort of 
blooded me ’fore Dick could get it cinched up.” 

He grinned down at the wad of cloth under his tightly 
rifled 1 * 1 belt ' Gerda reached for Tyrrel’s kerchief-draped 

Give me his also, Dick. You’ll have to help him.” 







CHAPTER XXXIX 


THE SHOW-DOWN 

A S TYRREL lifted his wounded partner up on the ledge 
b beside Gerda, the nearer members of the posse saw the 
two rifles in the girl’s hand. Their cautious advance broke 
into a run. Gerda called to the foremost to halt. They 
grouped in the dusty herd trail beside the bodies of Redeye 
and Butch. 

One of the men happened to step on Butch’s outflung 
twisted arm. Butch cursed and glared up at the men, and 
promptly scrambled to his feet. His only hurt was a broken 
arm. Fearful of another bullet, he had been shamming 
death. But Redeye was not shamming. He had been shot 
through the head. Jacarilla Howbert had been bred at a 
time when men shot to kill. 

Gerda and Tyrrel were supporting the tottery old cow¬ 
man between them down to the foot ledges. They reached 
the bottom. Howbert sank upon the lower shelf rock. 

“I’m ’bout all in, Miss Gerda,” he muttered. “You best 
give Dick his smoke-cart again. Here comes Mat.” 

Welsh had hung back until Bud ran forward to join the 
group of Kay Kay men and the one Socorro gunman still 
unwounded came around the rocks. Gerda did not return the 
revolver to Tyrrel; but when Welsh started to rush, she made 
a feint of handing it over. The threat brought Welsh up 
short. He jerked his thumb at Bud. 

“ Sheriff, do you duty. Handcuff the murderers and rush 
them to Socorro before the boys string them up.” 

Bud pushed through the group of men to swagger towards 
the surrendered prisoners. The highly polished deputy sheriff 

338 


The Show-Down 339 


badge glittered conspicuously on his out-thrust chest. Tyrrel 
had been completely disarmed; old Hack How plainly was 
near collapse, and the girl was Mrs. Welsh. Why shouldn’t 
;he swagger? Though Butch was now of no use, Welsh and 
their Socorro gunman could be counted upon for certain 
support. 

But Gerda had her own views. 

“ Stand off,” she ordered. “ These men have surrendered 
to me. They’re my prisoners.” 

“You took ’em all right, ma’am,” admitted Bud. “Guess 
you’ll get your slice of the reward. All the same, you ain’t 
got no license to stop a dep’ty sheriff and his posse. C’mon, 
boys. Le’s take them bloody murderers!” 

Howbert straightened up. Bud suddenly found himself 
looking into a revolver muzzle alongside the old cowman’s 
knee. Howbert grinned derisively. 

“ Mebbe I ain’t so dead’s I look, Bud. Ain’t you never 
learned no manners when a lady asks you to behave? 
Shouldn’t wonder if I still got a few twiggles left in my 
finger. Want I should first put the Lazy S Bar notch in 
your ear, like I done in your boss’s?” 

“ Boys,” said Gerda, “ it’s a lie what Mat says. These 
men did not kill my brother. Dick tells me-” 

“They did!” roared Welsh. “Here’s half a dozen men 
saw him — poor old Don — lying back there in the wash — 
dead — murdered by these dirty rustling skunks! She loves 
that fellow Tyrrel — that’s what’s the matter! But her own 
brother! Think of him, you Kay Kay men! Don Keith, the 
best boss you ever had, lying there — shot down — shot 
down from behind! And Red here — murdered too! Butch 
and Gailor ajid others badly wounded! You going to stand 
for it? Get a rope!” 

“A rope — get a rope!” howled Butch. “Lynch ’em! 
String ’em up! Lynch ’em! ” 








340 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Over the crest of the rocks came panting fat Cookie. He 
glared down the ledges and added his jells to Butch’s: 

“Hi! hi! There they are! Lynch ’em — lynch ’em!” 

Welsh’s goading had already done the work. The in¬ 
furiated men swayed — started to surge forward. Even then 
Gerda did not hand the revolver to Tyrrel. Instead, she 
jumped before him and Howbert, blanking the old man’s view 
of Bud and Welsh. The rifles fell clattering from the hand 
that she flung out to point down the trail. 

The gesture checked the rush of the would-be lynchers, 
when a cry of protest would only have goaded them into 
greater fury. They paused for an instant to look where the 
girl was pointing. 

They saw Lobo racing towards them — on his back old 
Jake frantically waving his hat and gesturing backwards. 
As he swept nearer they heard his yells: 

“ They’s coming! Hi , boys! hold yer hosses! They’s com¬ 
ing— Miss Pilar — she’s fetching him!” 

Beyond Lobo a horse glided up out of a dip in the trail —; 
a single-footing horse with two riders. In the saddle sat a 
firmly braced little figure. On behind, a larger figure, topped 
with a great sombrero, swaj^ed drunkenly from side to side, 
clinging to the girlish figure in front. 

“Donnie!” screamed Gerda. “Alive! 9 * s ! 

Welsh clutched at his slipping opportunity. 

“Not dead, but badly hurt!” he shouted. “And here’s 
Red, boj^s, murdered from cover! Come on! At the skunks! 
String them up! ” 

But even Cookie, scrambling down to jump the prisoners 
from the rear, failed to respond. Welsh’s fresh appeal fell 
flat. Not even the Socorro gunman cared two bits for the 
dead Redeye. That left only Bud and Butch and Welsh. 
But Butch was in a bad way from his shattered arm, and all 
of Bud’s aggressiveness had evaporated with the realization 



The Show-Down 


341 


;hat the bunch were no longer backing him. They stood 
aiting for the directions of their wounded boss. 

Jake brought Lobo to a plunging stop close beside his 

f iistress. He slid out of his saddle, to line up beside her. 
lot even Welsh heeded the move. Like the others, he was 
taring towards the approaching riders. 

He made no attempt to run. But in his bloodshot blue 
eyes was the look of a trapped wolf. Behind his scowl he 
thought hard and fast. There was still a chance left — a 
good chance if only Keith had not seen .... yes, a good 
chance. Redeye was dead. But Butch would stand pat, if 
only to save himself. 

Even with his hold on Pilar, Keith could not have kept 
his seat at any pace faster than a walk, except upon such a 
smooth-gaited, single-footing horse. From as far away as 
he had been able to see, the sight of the two groups at the 
rocks had told him the great danger to his friends. It had 
given him strength to cling on. He did not fall until Pilar 
drew rein a little short of the larger group. 

But Jake and Cookie had run to meet them. They caught 
Keith as he toppled over. All the other men except Bud and 
Welsh, Butch and the Socorro gunman, came crowding 
around. 

Canteen in hand, Pilar plumped down in the trail dust in 
their midst. She took Keith’s head in her lap and began to 
sprinkle water in his face and over his bandaged head. 

“ Stand away. Give him air! ” she commanded. “ He’s not 
dead. They’re only scratches, both places. He’s not going 
to die. He promised me he wouldn’t. He’s going to get 
well to marry me! ” 

Tyrrel strangled a chuckle: 

“Ah-m — forgive me, Glory Girl, but the thought of him! 
Took a bullet to drive that into his head! ” 

Gerda did not smile. She had not for an instant lost 




342 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


sight of Welsh. The Socorro gunman was backing off 
around the rocks. Bud had become as harmless as a child. 
Butch was helpless. That left only Welsh. But he still 
had his pistol; and the men might refuse to disarm him until 
they heard what her brother had to say. She waited, crush¬ 
ing down by sheer will power her almost irresistible impulse 
to rush to her brother. 

The wait was brief. Keith’s eyes opened. Their blurred 
gaze looked up into the tender eyes of Pilar. He smiled. 
The girl wiped and replaced his spectacles. After a few 
moments she permitted Jake and Cookie to obey his request 
for them to lift him up. His first words won him a cheer. 

“Congratulate me, boys! War is hell; but I’ve landed in 
heaven! ” 

Pilar blushed and smiled and kept her supporting arm 
fast about his waist. His gaze fell upon the morose face 
of Welsh. The smile left his bloodless lips. His voice rang 
out strong and clear: 

“Mat Welsh, I charge you with rustling and attempted 
murder — you and your accomplices, Butch and Redeye. 
There’s that deputy sheriff. Officer, arrest this man! ” 

Bud stood stock still, gaping. Welsh stepped sideways 
and backwards to get everyone in front of him. 

“Not so fast,” he said. “You don’t make me the goat 
for the real rustlers, just because they’ve murdered one of 
my witnesses and shot up the other. I know all about that 
bunch of Lazy S steers they drove over here and put our 
brand on, framing to lay it on me. What’s more, I know 
they drove a bunch of our steers back with them — a clear 
case of rustling. When Red and Butch tried to stop the 
steal, they fired at them. Here’s Butch to tell you all about 
that. They can’t deny it. Nor can they deny rustling the 
steers. Look up on the mesa and you’ll find the tracks.” 

“You claim they did it themselves?” asked Keith. 



The Show-Down 


343 


“ I sure do. They fired at Butch and-” 

“ It’s no use, Mat. You’ve given yourself away. I trailed 
after them to the Lazy S Bar yesterday. The last cattle 
tracks were pointed this way on the trail. I spent all last 
night with Mr. Tyrrel and Mr. Howbert — slept with them. 
This morning we met a bunch of Kay Kay steers, just down 
from the mesa on that side — tracks fresh. They had been 
driven over by you or your accomplices. There are no other 
rustlers around the Kay Kay.” 

Welsh would not admit defeat. 

“ Every man of the Sneaky Snake is a rustler. Jacarilla 
must have sent a couple to do it for him. Afraid to put 
through his own stealing.” 

Howbert raised his down-drooped head. His parched lips 
twisted in a mocking grin. 

“ Feared, huh? If I’d ’a’ been minded to rustle off you, 
I’d ’a’ come and took your whole brand — hoof, hide, and 
hair — and your Lazy S Bar notch, to boot.” 

Welsh jerked his hand towards his hip. On the instant 
he was covered by half a dozen Kay Kay pistols. His hands 
went up with reluctant slowness. None the less, they went up. 

“That’s right, boys,” said Keith. “He and Red both 
shot me. First bullet creased me — side of my head — 
knocked me out. Second one glanced around my ribs. Get 
his gun.” 

As one of the men took Welsh’s pistol from its holster and 
stepped clear, Gerda’s hand sagged down with the old Chavez 
revolver. The weapon dropped from her lax fingers. She 
turned to Tyrrel, swayed, and flung her arms about his neck. 
Her head sank upon his shoulder. Had he not held her 
fast, she would have fallen. He was badly frightened. 

“ Water! ” he cried — “ water! She’s dying! ” 

Old Jake came limping and hobbling with Pilar’s half- 
emptied canteen. He dashed water into Gerda’s white face. 






344 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


With a gasp, she came out of her partial faint. Tyrrel 
heaved a sigh of relief. 

“’Nuff, Jake,” he said. “Give the rest to Mr. Howbert.” 

The wrangler turned and uptilted the canteen to the 
parched lips of the wounded man. Gerda, still faint with the 
revulsion from her deathly fear, made no attempt to draw 
away from Tyrrel. She clung to him, gazing up into his 
grave eyes with passionate tenderness. 

“He was — he was going to kill you — first, Dick,” she 
whispered. “ Kill you .... yet I could not — let you — 
have the gun! ” 

“ I understand, Glory Girl. You could not, because you’ve 
changed. You no longer want me to win that way.” 

Welsh risked lowering his hands. As the men knew he w 
disarmed, they did not shoot. He burst into a jeering laug’ 
and stepped towards the group at the ledges. 

“Great moral spectacle you’re making of yourself, Mrs. 
Welsh,” he gibed. 

The stroke stung her far worse than the slash of her quirt 
across his face had stung him. She sprang away from 
Tyrrel, her face aflame with hot crimson. 

“That’s enough from you, Welsh,” said her brother. 
“ She’ll not long be your wife. Conviction for felony is good 
grounds for divorce.” 

“Not for her,” rejoined Welsh. “She gave me her 
promise—for better or for worse, until death. Was that a 
lie? What about her brag that the Keiths never break their 
word ? ” 

Gerda shuddered and flung up her hand before her eyes 
to shut out the hateful sight of him. Her quick rally was 
not based on anger, but on the strength of pride that sprang 
from the higher love that had come to her. She lowered her 
hand and faced him unflinchingly. 

“ It is not a lie. I married you of my own free will. I 



The Show-Down 


345 


gave you my pledge. Unless you yourself free me, nothing 
can release me from my word — except my death or your 
death.” 

Again Welsh laughed. 

“ That means you’ll stay Mrs. Welsh a long time. I’m 
a pretty husky specimen, and so are you. Even if I land in 
the pen, I’ll last till you’re as old as the hills.” 

Little Jake jumped forward from beside Howbert, hopping 
mad. He ran to a horse. 

“Danged if you will!” he yelled. “You gosh durned 
skunk! Here’s the rope, boys. Necktie party!” 

The call was like gasolene cast upon a smouldering fire. 
The men were doubly furious at Welsh. Not only had he 
shot Keith; he had led them to attack innocent men — had 
all but caused them to lynch the falsely accused Lazy S 
Bar owners. 

In a twinkling they were at him, striking with fists and 
pistol butts, in a furious struggle to seize him for lynching. 
He milled around like a grizzly attacked by Airedales, strik¬ 
ing back with his big fists and hurling them off. Even the 
strongest of them staggered before his blows. 

But then, over the shoulders of those behind him, Jake’s 
rope shot forward. The noose whipped down over his head 
and jerked tight about his thick neck. All the men within 
reach grabbed the rope to pull him down. As he toppled 
backwards across the body of Redeye, Tyrrel’s voice cut the 
clamor of yells like a knife: 

“ Drop that rope! Break away! ” 

Some of the men turned to stare at the meddler. But those 
who held the rope only braced themselves to drag the 
strangling man. The old Chavez revolver was in Tyrrel’s 
hand. He fired twice. Cut by the second bullet, the taut 
rope snapped in two. Tyrrel swung up the muzzle of the 
revolver at the furious men. 



346 Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“Stand clear,” he commanded. “Would you blacken the 
good name of your outfit with a lynching? Two wrongs don’t 
make a right. There’s no need of vigilante tactics nowadays. 
We have courts of law.” 

The pistol muzzle happened to swing round towards Butch. 
The wounded man ducked and cowered. 

“ Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! ” he howled. “ I own up — 
I’ll turn state’s ev’dence. I seen Mat and Red shoot Mr. 
Keith. I tried to stop ’em, but-” 

“Hear that, officer?” said Tyrrel. “Step lively. Get 
your handcuffs on the prisoner.” 

Bud forced himself to shuffle towards Welsh, fearful of 
him, but still more fearful of the wrathful men, and, most 
of all, fearful of Tyrrel’s revolver. 

Welsh picked himself up, covered with dust, the patch torn 
from his notched ear — shaken, bruised, bleeding, half 
throttled, yet still defiant. As he jerked off the noose of 
the bullet-cut rope, he turned to gloat at Gerda. 

Pilar drew Keith forward. 

“ Wait! Listen! ” she cried. “ It’s not true — Gerda, it’s 
not true! You’re not bound by your promise! You are not 
his wife!" 

Welsh’s head scrouged down between his hunching shoul¬ 
ders. He blared at the top of his bull voice: 

“ She is — she’s my wife! She’s bound by her word! She 
can’t marry him! ” 

But T} 7 rrel had seen his face when Pilar cried out. He 
called to her: 

“ Come here, niha. Tell it to Gerda.” 

Pilar obeyed, clinging fast to Keith, eager yet suddenly 
fearful. Gerda gazed at her with hopeless, lackluster eyes, 
utterly incredulous. The young girl tried to speak, and 
could not. Keith felt her tremble. 

“ What is it, darling? ” he asked. “ Tell us — quick! You 




The Show-Down 


347 


said that Gerda is not-” 

“Will — will you still love me, querido? No matter 
what- 55 

“ Of course, you foolish child!” 

“Then I . . . . it’s been all because of Gerda — the 
way she used to treat me, and because I — I wanted to make 
you jealous of Dick-” 

“Yes, yes — go on!” 

“And I was going to tell in time. I’d have told that day 
when we came back from the mission -— only it wasn’t neces¬ 
sary. Gerda wouldn’t have anything to do with him; and you 
wouldn’t sabe how I wanted you to — to-” 

Tyrrel broke in sharply: 

“Don’t you see how you’re torturing Gerda? Tell the 
truth — at once.” 

Pilar gulped, gasped, and plunged into her confession with 
breathless rapidity: 

“The Mexican woman told me Padre Xavier had left — 
there was no priest — only the caretaker. Mat threatened 
to shoot the man — I had gone to tell him. He was in the 
parish house — the window was open — I heard him bully and 
bribe the caretaker. He paid him to put on the robes — it 
was not a marriage — only a sham.” 

“You knew that, yet didn’t tell her?” reproached Keith. 

“ She was harsh to me — cruel! You know she was! But 
I meant to tell her. I would have — I was all ready to save 
her. But now you — you’re angry at me! Yet you promised 
to keep on loving me! ” 

The wail roused Gerda from the daze of her giddily whirl¬ 
ing thoughts. At that moment she could have forgiven her 
cousin for anything. 

“ Donnie, stop hurting the little darling! She’s right. It 
was all my fault. I was harsh and cruel to her. But 
now .... Mat, tell me! Is it true?” 







348 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


Welsh threw up his head. 

“Yes, it’s true. You don’t think I’d have let my chance 
slip, do you, when I found the priest gone? But I would 
have married you again with a real parson, soon as possible.” 

Gerda did not stop to shudder over what she had escaped. 
Overjoyed, she turned to face Tyrrel. She saw him stooping 
to catch the down-sunken old cowman. 

“Oh — dad! Dick, he’s not — not yet-” 

“No,” said Tyrrel. “It’s bad, though.” 

Her brother was swaying in Pilar’s arms. She took com¬ 
mand with quick decisiveness. 

“ Hustle those cuffs on the prisoner, you Bud. Jake, stand 
by and see he does it. Rest of you, fetch the horses and 
wounded men. Bring them in to the ranch best you can. I’m 
going to Socorro for a doctor.” 

She ran to catch Lobo. He reared and struck at her. 
Tyrrel came between. The thoroughbred’s flattened ears 
pricked up and forward. His lips closed over the wickedly 
bared teeth. He thrust out his muzzle to meet the gentler’s 
quietly offered hand. The hand stroked down over his quiver¬ 
ing nostrils and velvety lip. It went up to stroke the white 
star on the broad forehead. 

“Your hand, too, Gerda,” said Tyrrel. 

The girl pressed up against his shoulder. She smiled. 
Her e}^es looked into the eyes of the roan. She put out her 
hand to stroke his muzzle. Instead of jumping or baring his 
teeth again to bite, he nuzzled her hand. 

Tyrrel patted the arching neck, and offered his knee to 
the foot of the radiant-eyed girl. Lobo stood still while she 
mounted. 

“He’s your horse now — now and always,” said Tyrrel. 
“No need of your spurs. If you ask him, he’ll run for you 
till he drops.” 

Gerda slipped the loop of her quirt from her wrist and 




The Show-Down 349 


lung the cruel little whip into the dust. 

“Mind dad, boy,” she said. 

A touch, and Lobo leaped away down the trail, his pace 
*ast quickening into a full run. 




CHAPTER XL 


trail’s end 

B ESIDES Keith and Howbert and Butch, the only man 
hurt seriously enough to need assistance was Gailor. 
After the first rush, Tyrrel and Howbert had shot only to 
hold off their attackers. The two wounded gunmen in the 
arroyo had fled with their uninjured companion. None of 
them ever returned to Socorro. 

By the time the men came back with Gailor and the horses, 
Keith had become so weak that he could not stand even with 
support. Tyrrel took charge with quiet authority. 

“Rope Redeye’s body ’cross his saddle. We don’t want to 
leave it to the coyotes. Jake, you know Billy Bull. I’ll ask 
you to go over to Tabru. They’re waiting for a posse. 
Welsh and Bud must have forged the sheriff’s reply to our 
wire. Tell the boys it’s all settled, but that dad — he’s — 
going over the range.” 

“ Gosh, no, kid! Look — I seen his finger twitch.” 

“ Over the range — going soon, Jake. He’ll be gone before 
you get across the mesa. But tell Billy to fetch all the boys 
except the pumpman. Dad told Mr. Keith we’d take care of 
your feeders and a thousand more Kay Kays. That’s all. 
Stir up the dust. Bud, come here.” 

As Jake loped away towards the mesa, Bud sidled across 
the trail, glad of an excuse to get clear from the glowering 
Welsh. 

“Yessir— yes, Mr. Tyrrel,” he stammered. “I got ’em 
locked on tight. D’you want the key. Here ’tis.” 

Tyrrel looked the abashed young fellow in the eye with a 
steady gaze that caught and held him. 

350 


Trail’s End 


351 


“ Bud, you’re still a boy. I asked Red and Butch to bury 
the hatchet. They chose to keep going Welsh’s way. Slim 
listened to me. He’s riding for a good outfit, and there’s a 
young lady. . . . I’m guessing he’ll wind up with his 
own brand—and not a calf rustled.” 

“ A-huh — yessir. Slim’s a cow-sharp. Me — I can’t never 
get ahead nohow. They’s a hole in my pocket.” 

44 You’ll never get it sewn up in town. How’d you like to 
ride for the Lazy S Bar?” 

44 Me — ride for old Jacarilla? ” Bud cast a startled glance 
at the outstretched, unconscious cowman. 44 H^— they say 
he treats his boys white. Only he wouldn’t never take me on. 
He shot up my paw, back in the eighties.” • 

44 This is a new deal all around. You’ll get top wages 
and some calves, if you make good.” 

Bud’s fingers were fumbling in their haste to unpin his 
badge. 

44 Yessir. I — I — if I can ride for you, Mr. Tyrrel. I 
heard tell how you rode Still Hell, and nqfr you’ve busted 
Big Mat.” 

44 Wait. You’ll take in your prisoners and resign; then 
come back to help trail the herd across. Now, boys. All set. 
Lift Mr. Howbert up to me. Pilar, let someone take Mr. 
Keith on before him, the same way. Plere, you big cowboy. 
Get on the single-footer and take Mr. Keith. Rest of you, 
help Gailor and Butch into their saddles.” 

They strung out along the trail at a walk, Bud with 
Welsh’s horse in lead. But the ranch was miles away, and 
Tyrrel feared that the old man was dying. He started Ante 
to single-footing. 

An hour before sunset they reached the casa. Gailor had 
been able to ride all the way unaided, but he had to be carried 
in to his bunk. At Pilar’s urging, Tyrrel bore his uncon¬ 
scious partner into the main casa , behind the two men who 




352 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


carried the equally unconscious Keith. 

On the upper floor the others followed the anxious girl 
into Keith’s quarters. Not knowing where else to go, Tyrrel 
entered Pilar’s suite. This time the dainty bed was all ready 
for use, with mattresses, sheets, and satin coverlet. 

Having no one to open the bed, he laid Howbert on the 
coverlet. He started to pull off one of the greasy, dusty 
boots. The wounded man groaned and opened his eyes. They 
widened at sight of the pink and white room. 

“r//t/he grunted. “Dude hos’lery — uh! Leggo that 
boot.” ^ 

“But, dad, I must get you into bed. Doc will soon be 
here.” 

“ Uh-uh — no use. I — I — mebbe I’m a old fool, son — but 
I sort of got a notion I’d like to — cash in — with ’em on.” 

Ty*r I let the boots be, and brought water to cool the old 
man’s feverisl^face. The one great relief to Tyrrel was that 
the wound seemed to give little pain. Howbert grinned and 
lay for a few nfcments -with eyes half closed. A creeping 
shadow struck across his face. He looked up at Tyrrel. 

“’Tain’t sundown a’ready?” 

“No, dad; not for an hour. Gerda will soon be here with 
the doctor.” 

“Nope. D’want no sawbones poking round in my innerds. 
I got it good and plenty this time. Old Sneaky Snake’s got 
scotched at last — going to die at sundown.” 

“Oh, no, dad. Surely you’ll not-” 

“’Struth. Say — once went up — roof — with Apache. 
C’n see the sun go down. Too close in here — no air. Take 
me — up.” 

Though afraid the old man might go at any moment, 
Tyrrel ran for Pilar. Keith had recovered consciousness 
and promptly fallen into a natural sleep. The relieved girl 
sent the maids ahead up to the roof, with pads and pillows 





Trail’s End 


353 


and blankets. She hastened to show Tyrrel the way after 
them. 

The shift put the dying man back into his coma. But 
Tyrrel laid him down on the hard bed with his face to the 
left, so that, if he should again recover consciousness, he 
could look out over the low parapet at the sun. He sent 
Pilar back to watch over Keith. 

Gerda had just come with the doctor, a former Army sur¬ 
geon. He sterilized and dressed Keith’s wounds before the 
girls realized he had more than begun. 

“Minor injuries,” he said. “Lucky for Mr. Keith that 
head wound wasn’t a bit deeper. Few days’ rest and quiet, 
and he’ll be dancing. Next casualty?” 

Prompted by Pilar, Gerda led him up on the roof. How- 
bert was still unconscious. The surgeon took off the tightly 
cinched belt and looked at the wound. He covered it over 
and rose to go. 

“Marvelous vitality — these old outdoor buckaroos. Not 
one city man in a thousand would have lasted an hour. Next 
casualty? ” 

“ Gailor and Butch — in the bunk room, doctor — leg and 
arm,” said Tyrrel. “I’ll ask you to excuse Mrs.— Miss 
Keith. Dad may want to tell her good-bye.” 

The surgeon nodded and hastened down to his next cases. 
Gerda knelt to take one of the scrawny, bloodless hands of 
the dying man. He opened his eyes and smiled at her. 

“Huh — crack roper — son is. Got his rope on you — 
huh? ” 

“Yes, dad.” 

“ Could ’a’ busted you. Didn’t. Gentled you — huh? ” 

“Yes, dad.” 

“Just like the young son-of-a-gun. You, Dick, unhitch 
my gun-belt.” 

“ Here it is, dad.” 



354 


Tyrrel of the Cow Country 


“ Open her.” 

The belt was hollow. From within Tyrrel drew a roll of 
bills. The look in the old man’s eyes told him they were, 
not what was wanted. He shook the belt. Out fluttered a 
paper folded lengthwise to make a narrow strip. It was a 
leaf torn from the back of a small ledger. 

“Yours,” grunted Howbert. “Read.” 

Tyrrel unfolded and looked at the paper. The old man’s 
writing was barely legible, but its meaning went as straight 
to the mark as his bullets. 

1 wil my brand £■? al I got to Dik Teral of Colo lie 
rode Stil Hel he caled me dad he meant it Elisha S. Howbert 
alyus Hakreyaw. 

At the head of the list of seven witnesses was the name of 
Billy Bull. 

Gerda, in turn, read the will. The date alone surprised 
her. 

“Oh, dad! You made it the first time that Dick went 
back to see you.” 

“ A-huh . Don’t do to wait and take no chances. Might 
’a’ stubbed my toe and got gangrene. You can’t never tell.” 

Tyrrel bent down to grasp the other limp hand. 

“If only it had been for a longer time, dad — if I could 
have had a few years to be your son. Tell me, have you no 
relatives? I can look them up — do what’s right.” 

c< Uh-uh — nary kith nor kin—’cept you. Never had 
none—’less you might call her one. Just did miss marrying 
her. You don’t need me. You got Miss Gerdy — and your 
Miss Flora Macintyre ma.” 

He smiled and sighed and closed his eyes. The low-hung 
sun sagged down and down, close upon the rim of the far- 
distant horizon. He turned a little and muttered: 

“Too bad he took after One-Gun — too bad! Had to 



Trail’s End 


3 55 


show him — had to put my notch in his ear. Could ’a’ got 
him dead easy when he come up out the arroyo. Mebbe I 
ought to done it. But he was her son. Too bad — too 
bad .... going to the pen. If only he’d taken after 
her, ’stead of One-Gun.” 

The murmuring lips again became silent. Another wait. 
The lower edge of the sun cut the horizon. He stirred a 
little. 

— my rheumatiz is tuning up. It’s a-going to 
rain .... rain. The grass’ll always be green and fresh 
for you, son — for you and Miss Gerdy. If you don’t mind, 
you might make his middle name Howbert.” 

Again a silence. The fiery disc in the west was now more 
than half under. The last whispered words were so faint 
that Gerda had to bend very close to hear them. 

44 Plant me ’longside your pa, Miss Gerdy. I wouldn’t mind 
siding Apache at trail’s end.” 

The sun sank. So very gentle was the end that Gerda 
could not tell when came the last feeble flutter of the heart. 
But Tyrrel could have sworn it was at the very moment the 
rim of the sun went under. Jacarilla had said, sundown. 

Gerda pulled the blanket up over the gray head. Tyrrel 
drew her to her feet. Hand in hand they stood gazing into 
the gold and scarlet dazzle of the sunset. 

“A man,” said Tyrrel— 44 a man of the West — an Amer¬ 
ican— a free American. Wronged, he did wrong. But he 
turned to the right. Lied about through all the years, he 
lived square and true to the best of his lights. He was white.” 

Gerda’s free hand went up on Tyrrel’s straightened 
shoulder. 

44 1 know another man who was wronged and ridiculed and 
lied about. He held to the right throughout it all. He’s free, 
white and American. He has saved me from myself, this man 
whom I love.” 






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